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CONSUELO 


By GEORGE SAND, 

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Sts" 

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REPRINTED FROM THE LONDON EDITION OF 1876, 
UNALTERED AND UNABRIDGED. 



A. L. BUET, PUBLISHER, NEW YORK. 

66 Reade Street. 

THE MANHATTAN LIBRARY ^ A Series of 
Select Works from Standard Authors $ Published on the 
First and Fifteenth of Each Month >$< Yearly Subscription 
$12 ^ Single Copies 50 Cents ^ Vol. /, No. 15, September 
i^thy 1891 >> Entered at the Post-Office at New York^ 
N. Y.y as Second-Class Matter. 











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Gift of 

Estate of W. R. Hes^ielbad^ 

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c 


CONSUELO. 


CHAPTER 1. 

Yes, yes, young ladies ; toss your heads as much as 

you please; the wisest and best among you is But I 

shall not say it; for she is the only one of my class who 
has a particle of modesty, and I should fear, were I to 
name her, that she should forthwith lose that uncommon 
virtue which I could wish to see in you 

“ In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” 

sang Costanza, with an air of effrontery. 

“ Amen!^' exclaimed all the other girls in chorus. 

‘‘Naughty maiiT^ said.Clorinda, pouting out her pretty 
lips, and tapping with the hajidle of her fan tlie \vriukled 
and bony fingers which the singing-master had left stretched 
on the keys of the silent instrument. 

“ Go on, young ladies — go on,^^ said the old professor, 
with the resigned and submissive air of one who for forty 
years had had to suffer for six hours daily the airs 
and contradictions of successive generations of female 
pupils. “ It is not the less true,” added he, putting his 
spectacles into their case, and his snuff-box into his pocket, 
without raising his eyes toward the angry and mocking 
group, “ that this wfise, this docile, this studious, this at- 
tentive, this good child, is not you. Signora Clorinda; nor 
you. Signora Costanza; nor you, either. Signora Zulietta; 
neither is it Rosina; and still less Michela ” 

“ In that case, it is I!” 

“No; it is ir 

“By no means; it is I!” 

“^Tis ir 

“”risT!” screamed out all at once, with their clear and 
thrilling voices, some fifty fair or dark-haired girls, darting 


2 


G0N8UBL0. 


like a flock of sea-birds on some poor shell-fish left stranded 
by the waves. 

The shell-fish, that is to say, the maestro — and I 
maintain that no other metaphor could so well express his 
angular movements, his filmy eyes, his red-streaked cheeks, 
and more especially the innumerable stiff, white and pointed 
curls of his professional wig — the maestro, I say, forced 
back three times upon his seat, after having risen to go 
away, but calm and indifferent as the shell-fish itself, rocked 
and hardened by the storms, had long to he entreated to de- 
clare which of his pupils deserved the praises of which he was 
usually so sparing, but of which he now showed himself so 
prodigal. At last, yielding as if with regret to the entreaties, 
which his sarcasms had provoked, he took the roll with which 
he was in the habit of marking the time, and made use of it 
to separate and range in two lines his unruly flock. Then, 
advancing with a serious air between the double row of 
these light-headed creatures, he proceeded toward the or- 
gan-loft, and stopped before a young person who was seated, 
bent down, on one of the steps. She, with her elbows on 
her knees, and her fingers in her ears, in order not to be 
distracted by the noise, and twisted into a sort of coil like 
a squirrel sinking to sleep, conned over her lesson in a low 
voice, so as to disturb no one. He, solemn and triumphant, 
with leg advanced and outstretched arm, seemed like the 
shepherd Paris awarding the apple, not to the most beauti- 
ful, but to the wisest. 

^•Consuelo! the Spaniard!’^ exclaimed all the young 
choristers, struck at first with the utmost surprise, but al- 
most immediately joining in a general burst of laughter, 
such as Homer attributes to the gods of Olympus, and 
which caused a blush of anger and indignation on the ma- 
jestic countenance of the professor. 

Little Oonsuelo, with her closed ears, had heard nothing 
of this dialogue. Her eyes were bent on vacancy, and, 
busied with her task, she remained some moments uncon- 
scious of the uproar. Then, perceiving herself the object of 
general attention, she dropped her hands on her knees, al- 
lowed her book to fall on the floor, and, petrified with as- 
tonishment not unmixed with fear, rose at length and 
looked around in order to see what ridiculous person or 
thing afforded matter for such noisy gaiety. 

Oonsuelo,’^ said the maestro, taking her hand without 


CONSUBLO. 


further explanation, come, my good child, and sing me 
the ^ Salve Regina^ of Pergolese, which thou hast learned 
but a fortnight, and which Clorinda has been studying 
for more than a year/^ 

Consuelo, without replying and without evincing either 
anger, shame, or embarassment, followed the singing-mas- 
ter to the organ, where, sitting down, he struck with an 
air of triumph, the key-note for his young pupil. Then 
Consuelo, with unaffected simplicity and ease, raised her 
clear and thrilling voice, and filled the lofty roof with the 
sweetest and purest notes with which it had ever echoed. 
She sang the ' Salve Regina^ without a single error — with- 
out venturing one note which was not perfectly just, full, 
sustained, or interrupted at the proper place; and following 
with unvarying precision the instructions which the learned 
master had given her, fulfilling with her clear perceptions 
his precise and correct intentions, she accomplished, with 
the inexperience and indifference of a child, that which 
science, practice, and enthusiasm had not perhaps done for 
the most perfect singer. In a word, she sang to admira- 
tion. 

‘‘It is well, my child, said the good old master, always 
chary of his praise. “ You have studied with attention 
that which you have faithfully performed. Next time you 
shall repeat the cantata of Scarlatti which I have taught 
you.^" 

“ Si, Signor Professor,” replied Consuelo — “ now may 
I go?- 

“ Yes, my child. Young ladies, the lesson is over.- 

Consuelo placed in her little basket her music and her 
crayons, as well as her black fan — the inseparable com- 
panion alike of Spaniard and Venetian — which she never 
used, although she never went without it. Then, disap- 
pearing behind the fretwork of the organ, she flew as 
lightly as a bird down the mysterious stairs which led to 
the body of the cathedral, knelt for a moment in crossing 
the nave, and, when just on the point of leaving the 
church, found beside the font a handsome young man who, 
smiling, presented the holy water to her. She took some 
of it, looking at him all the time with the self-possession 
of a little girl who knows and feels that she is not yet a 
woman, and mingling her thanks and her devotional ges- 
ture in so agreeable a fashion tliat the signor could not 


4 


C0N8UEL0. 


lielp laughing outright. Consuelo began to laugh like- 
wise , but, all at once, as if she had recollected that some 
one was waiting for her, she cleared the porch and the 
steps in a bound, and was off in a twinkling. 

In the meantime, the professor again replaced his spec- 
tacles in his huge waistcoat pocket, and thus addressed his 
silent scholars : 

Shame upon you, my fair pupils !” said he. ‘'This 
little girl, the youngest of you all — the latest comer in the 
class — is the only one of you capable of executing a solo. 
Even in the choruses, no matter what errors are made on 
every side of her, I always find her firm and steady as a 
note of the harpsichord. It is because she has zeal, 
patience, and — what you will never have, no, not one of 
you — a conscience 

“Ah! now the murder is out,^^ cried Costanza, as soon 
as the professor had left the church. “ He only repeated 
it some thirty-nine times during the lesson, and now, I 
verily believe, he would fall ill if he did not get saying it 
the fortieth.'^ 

“A great wonder, indeed, that this Consuelo should get 
on!’^ exclaimed Zulietta ; “she is so poor that she must 
work to learn something whereby to earn her bread.’' 

“ They tell me her mother was a gipsy,” said Michelina, ’ 
“ and that the little one sang about the streets and high- 
ways before she came here. To be sure, she has not a bad 
voice ; but then slie has not a particle of intelligence, poor 
child ! She learns merely by rote ; she follows to the let- 
ter the professor’s instructions — and heiTungsdo the rest.” 

“ If she had the best lungs in the world, and the best 
brains into the bargain,” said the handsome Clorinda, “ I 
would not give my face in exchange for hers.” 

“ I do not know that you would lose so much,” replied 
Costanza, who had not a very exalted opinion of Clorinda’s 
beauty. 

“ She is not handsome either,” said another ; “she is as 
yellow as a pasclial candle. Her great eyes say just nothing 
at all, and then slie is always so ill dressed! She is decidedly 

ugly- 

“ Poor girl! she is much- to be pitied — no money — no 
beauty!” 

Thus finished the praises of Consuelo. They comforted 
themselves by their contemptuous pity for having been 
forced to admire her singing. 


C0N8UEL0, 


5 


CHAPTER II. 

The scene just delated took place in Venice about a 
hundred years ago, in the church of the Mendicanti, 
where the celebrated maestro Porpora had just rehearsed 
the grand vespers which he was to direct on the following 
Assumption-day. The young choristers whom he had so 
smartly scolded were pupils of the state schools, in which 
they were instructed at the expense of government and 
afterwards received a dowry preparatory to marriage or the 
cloister, as Jean Jacques Rousseau, who admired their 
magnificent voices at the same period and in the same 
church, has observed. He mentions the circumstance in 
the charming episode in the eighth book of his ‘^Con- 
fessions.” I shall not here transcribe those two admirable 
pages, lest the friendly reader, whose example under simi- 
lar circumstances I should certainly imitate, might be 
unable to resume my own. Hoping, then, that the afore- 
said confessions are not at hand, I continue my narrative. 

All these young ladies were not equally poor. Notwith- 
standing the strictness of the administration, it is certain 
that some gained admission, to whom it was a matter of 
speculation rather than necessity to receive an artistic edu- 
cation at the expense of the republic. For this reason it 
was that some permitted themselves to forget the sacred 
laws of equality, thanks to which they had been enabled 
to take their seats clandestinely along with their poorer 
sisters. All, therefore, did not fulfil the intentions of the aus- 
tere republic respecting theirfuture lot. From time to time 
there were numbers who, having received their gratuitous 
education, renounced their dowry to seek a more brilliant 
fortune elsewhere. The administration, seeing that this was 
inevitable, had sometimes admitted to the course of instruc- 
tion the children of poor artists, whose wandering existence 
did not permit them a long stay in Venice. Among this 
number was the little Consuelo, born in Spain, and arriv- 
ing from thence in Italy by the route of St. Petersburg, 
Constantinople, Mexico, Archangel, or any other still more 
direct after the eccentric fashion of the Bohemians. 

Nevertheless, she hardly merited this appellation ; for 
she was neither Hindoo nor gipsy, and still less of any of 
the tribes of Israel, She was of good Spanish blood— 


6 


CONSUELO. 


doubtless with a tinge of the Moresco ; and though some- 
what swarth}^ she had a tranquillity of manner which was 
quite foreign to any of the wandering races. I do not 
wish to say any thing ill of the latter.. If I had invented 
the character of Consuelo, I do not pretend that I would 
have traced her parentage from Israel, or even further ; 
but she was altogether, as everything about her organi- 
zation betrayed, of the family of Ishmael. To be sure I 
never saw her, not being a century old, but I was told so 
and I cannot contradict it. She had none of the feverish 
petulance, alternated by fits of apathetic languor, which 
distinguishes the zingarella ; neither had she the insinu- 
ating curiosity nor the frontless audacity of Hebrew 
mendicancy. She was calm as the water of the lagunes, 
and at the same time active as the light gondolas that 
skimmed along their surface. 

As she was growing rapidly and as her mother was very 
poor, her clothes were always a year too short, which gave 
to her long legs of fourteen years’ growth, accustomed to 
show themselves in public, a sort of savage grace which 
one was pleased and at the same time sorry to see. 
Whether her foot was large or not, it was impossible to 
say, her shoes were so bad. On the other hand, her figure, 
confined in narrow stays ripped at every seam, was elastic 
and flexible as a palm-tree, but without form, fulness, or 
attraction. She, poor girl ! thought nothing about it, ac- 
customed as she was to hear herself called a gipsy and a 
wanderer by the fair daughters of the Adriatic. Her face 
was round, sallow, and insignificant, and would have 
struck nobody, if her short thick hair fastened behind her 
ears, and at the same time her serious and indifferent 
demeanor, had not given her a singularity of aspect which 
was but little attractive. Faces which do not please at 
first, by degrees lose still more the power of pleasing. 
The beings to whom they belong, indifferent to others, 
become so to themselves, and assume a negligence of aspect 
which repels more and more. On the contrary, beauty 
observes, admires, and decks itself as it were in an imag- 
inary mirror which is always before its eyes. Ugliness 
forgets itself and is passed by. Nevertheless, there are two 
sorts of ugliness : one which suffers, and protests against 
the general disapprobation by habitual rage and envy 
— this is the true, the only ugliness. The other, ingen- 


aONStlELO. 


1 


tioiis, careless, which goes quietly on its Way, neither in- 
viting nor shunning comparisons, and which wins the 
heart while it shocks the sense — such was the ugliness of 
Consuelo. Those who were sufficiently generous to interest 
themselves about her, at first regretted that she was not 
pretty ; and then, correcting themselves, and patting her 
head with a familiarity which beauty does not permit, 
added — ‘‘After all, you are a good creature and 
Consuelo was perfectly satisfied, although she knew very 
well that that meant, “You are nothing more/^ 

In the meantime, the young and handsome signor who 
had offered her the holy water at the font, stayed behind 
till he had seen all the scholars disappear. He looked at 
them with attention, and when Clorinda, the handsomest, 
passed near him, he held out his moistened fingers that he 
might have the pleasure of touching ners. The young 
girl blushed with pride, and passed on, casting as she did 
so one of those glances of shame mixed with boldness, 
which are expressive neither of self-respect nor modesty. 

As soon as they had disappeared in the interior of the 
convent, the gallant patrician returned to the nave, and 
addressed the preceptor, who was descending more slowly 
the steps of the tribune. 

Corpo di hacco I dear maestro,^’ said he, “will you 
tell me which of your pupils sang the ‘ Salve Regina 
“ And why do you wish to know, Count Zustiniani?’^ 
said the professor, accompanying him out of the church. 

“ To compliment you on your pupil,^^ replied the pat- 
rician. “ You know how long I have attended vespers, 
and even the exercises ; for you are aware what a dilettante 
I am in sacred music. AVell, this is the first time that I 
have heard Pergolese sung in so perfect a manner, and as 
to the voice, it is the most beautiful that I have ever lis- 
tened to. 

“ I believe it well,^^ replied the professor, inhaling a 
large pinch of snuff with dignity and satisfaction. 

“Tell me then the name of this celestial creature who 
has thrown me into such an ecstasy. In spite of your 
severity and your continual fault-finding, you have created 
the best school in all Italy. Your choruses are excellent, 
and your solos very good ; but your music is so severe, so 
grand, that young girls can hardly be expected to express 
its beauties/^ 


B 


CONStl^LO. 


They do not express them/^ said the professor riloitl'Ii- 
fully, “ because they do not feel them. Good voices, God 
be thanked, we do not want ; but as for a good musical 
organization, alas, it is hardly to be met with 

You possess at least one admirably endowed. Her 
organ is magnificent, her sentiment perfect, her skill re- 
markable — name her, then.'’^ 

Is it not so?^^ said the professor, evading the question ; 

did it not delight you?” 

It took my heart by storm — it even drew tears from 
me — and that by means so simple, combinations so little 
sought after, that at first I could hardly understand it. 
Then I remembered what you had so often told me touch- 
ing your divine art, my dear master, and for the first time 
I understood how much you were in the right.” 

And what did I say to you?” said the maestro, with 
an air of triumph. 

You told me,” replied the count, that simplicity is 
the essence of the great, the true, the beautiful in art.” 

‘‘I also told you that there was often reason to observe 
and applaud what was clever, and brilliant, and well com- 
bined.” 

‘^Doubtless; but between these secondary qualities and 
the true manifestations of genius, there was an abyss, you 
said. Very well, dear maestro : your cantatrice is alone on 
one side, while all the rest are on the other.” 

“ It is not less true than well expressed,” observed the 
professor, rubbing his hands. 

Her name?” replied the count. 

What name?” rejoined the malicious professor. 

Oh, per Dio Santo! that of the siren whom I have 
just been hearing.” 

'MVhat do you want with her name, Signor Count?” 
replied Porpora, in a tone of severity. 

Why should you wish to make a secret of it, 
maestro?” 

I will tell you why, if you will let me know what 
object you have in finding out.” 

Is it not a natural and irresistible feeling to wish to 
see and to know the objects of our admiration?” 

^^Ah! that is not your only motive. My dear Count, 
pardon me for thus contradicting you. You are a skillful 
amateur and a profound connoisseur in music, as every 


G0N8UEL0. 


9 


body knows; but yon are, over and above all, proprietor 
of the theater of San Samuel. It is your glory and your 
interest alike, to encourage the loftiest talent and the finest 
voices of Italy. Yon know that our instruction is good, 
and that with us alone those studies are pursued which 
form great musicians. You have already carried off 
Gorilla from me, as she will one day be carried off from 
you by an engagement in some other theater ; so you are 
come to spy about, to see if you can’t get a hold of some 
other Gorilla — if, indeed, we have formed one. That is 
the truth. Signor Gount, you must admit.” 

And were it even so, dear maestro,” replied the count, 
smiling, what would it signify to you? — where is the 
harm?” 

It is a great deal of harm. Signor Gount. Is it noth- 
ing to corrupt, to destroy these poor creatures?” 

Ha! my most austere professor, how long have you 
been the guardian angel of their tender virtues?” 

I know very well. Signor Gount, I have nothing to do 
with them, except as regards their talent, which you dis- 
figure and disgrace in your theaters by giving them in- 
ferior music to sing. Is it not heart-rending — is it not 
shameful — to see Gorilla, who was just beginning to un- 
derstand our serious art, descend from the sacred to the 
profane — from prayer to badinage — from the altar to the 
boards — from the sublime to the absurd — from Allegri and 
Palestrina to Albinoni and the barber Apollini?” 

So you refuse, in your severity, to name a girl respect- 
ing whom I can have no intention, seeing that I do not 
know whether she has the necessary qualifications for the 
theater?” 

^^I absolutely refuse.” 

And do you suppose I shall not find it aut?” 

Alas! you will do so if you are bent upon it, but I shall 
do my utmost to prevent 3mu from taking her from us.” 

Very well, maestro, you are half conquered, for I have 
seen her — I have divined your mysterious divinity.” 

So, so,” replied the master, with a reserved and dis- 
trustful air; ‘^are you sure of that?” 

My eyes and my heart have alike revealed her to me, 
and, that you may be convinced, I shall describe her to 
-you. She is . tall — taller, I think, than any of your 
pnpilg — fair as the snow on Friuli, and rosy as the dawn 


10 


CONSUELO. 


of a summer morn; she has flaxen hair, azure eyes, an ex- 
quisitely rounded form, with a ruby on her finger wliich 
burned my hand as I touched it, like sparks from a magic 
fire/^ 

‘‘ Bravo!’^ exclaimed Porpora, with a cunning air; in 
that case I have nothing to conceal. The name of your 
beauty is Olorinda. Go and pay your court to her; gain 
her over with gold, with diamonds, and gay attire. You 
will easily conclude an engagement with her. She will 
help you to replace Gorilla; for the public of your theater 
always prefer fine shoulders to sweet sounds, flashing eyes 
to a lofty intellect.” 

‘‘Am I then mistaken, my dear maestro?” said the 
count, a little confused; “and is Olorinda but a common- 
place beauty?” 

“But suppose my siren, my divinity, my angel, as you 
are pleased to call her,” resumed the maestro, maliciously, 
“ was anything but a beauty?” 

“ If she be deformed, I beseech you not to name her, 
for my illusion would be too cruelly dissipated. If she 
were only ugly, I could still adore her; but I should not 
engage her for the theater, because talent without beauty 
is a misfortune, a struggle, a perpetual torment for a 
woman. What are you looking at, maestro, and why do 
you pause?” 

“ Why? because we are at the water-steps, and I see no 
gondola. But you. Count, what do you look at?” 

“ I was looking to see if that young fellow on the steps 
there, beside that plain little girl, was not my protege, An- 
zoleto, the handsomest and most intelligent of all our little 
plebeians. Look at him, dear maestro. Do you not, like 
me, feel interested in him? That boy has the sweetest 
tenor in Venice, and he is passionately fond of music, for 
which he has an incredible aptitude. I have long wished 
to speak to you about it, and to ask you to give him 
lessons. I look upon him as the future support of my the- 
ater, and hope in a few years to be repaid for all my 
trouble. Hola, Zoto! come hither, my child, that I may 
present you to the illustrious master Porpora.” 

Anzoleto drew his naked legs out of the water, where 
they hung- carelessly while he amused himself stringing 
those pretty shells which in Venice are poetically termed 
fioro di mare. His only garments were a pair of well-worn 


CONSVELO. 


11 


pantaloons and a fine shirt, through the rents of which one 
could see his white shoulders, modeled like those of a 
youthful Bacchus, lie had all the grace and beauty of a 
young Fawn, chiseled in the palmiest days of Grecian art; 
and his features displayed that singular union, not unfre- 
quent in the creations of Grecian statuary, of careless 
irony with dreamy melancholy. His fine fair hair, some- 
what bronzed by the sun, clustered in Antinous-like curls 
about his alabaster neck; his features were regular and 
beautifully formed; but there was something bold and for- 
ward in the expression of his jet-black eyes Avhich dis- 
pleased the maestro. The boy promptly rose when he 
heard the voice of Zustiniani, pitched his shells into the 
lap of the little girl beside him, who without raising her 
eyes went on with her occupation of stringing them along 
with golden beads, and coming forward, kissed the count’s 
hand, after the fashion of the country. 

‘‘ Upon my word, a handsome fellow !” said the pro- 
fessor, giving him a tap on the cheek; ^‘but he seems oc- 
cupied with amusements rather childish for his time of life: 
he is fully eighteen years old, is he not?” 

Nineteen shortly, Sior Professor,” replied Auzoleto in 
the Venetian dialect; ^‘but if I amuse myself with shells it 
is to help little Consuelo here to make her necklaces.” 

‘‘ Consuelo,” said the master, advancing toward his pupil 
with the count and Anzoleto, ‘‘I did not imagine that you 
cared for ornaments.” 

Oh, it is not for myself. Signor,” replied Consuelo, 
rising cautiously to prevent the shells falling from her lap;. 

make them for sale in order to procure rice and Indian 
corn.” 

She is poor and supports her mother,” said Porpora. 
'^Listen, Consuelo: should you find yourself in any 
difficulty, be sure to come and see me: but I absolutely 
forbid you to beg, remember.” 

Oh, you need not forbid her, Sior Professor,” replied. 
Anzoleto with animation; ^^she will never do so; and be- 
side I would prevent her.” 

But you have nothing,” said the count. 

‘^Nothing but your liberality, Eccellenza; but we share 
together, the little one and myself.” 

^^She is a relative, then?” 

^^No; she is a stranger — it is Consuelo,” 


12 


C0N8UEL0. 


‘^Consuelo! what a singular nameP^ said the count. 

beautiful name, Eccellenza,^^ resumed Anzoleto ; 
‘^it means Consolation.^^* 

Oh, indeed? She is your friend then, it appears?’^ 

‘^She is my betrothed. Signor.'' 

So soon ? Such children ! to think of marriage 
already!" 

‘MVe shall marry on the day that you sign my engage- 
ment at San Samuel, Eccellenza." 

In that case you will have to wait a long time, my 
little ones." 

Oh, we shall wait," replied Oonsuelo, with the cheerful 
gaiety of innocence." 

The count and the maestro amused themselves for some 
time longer with the frank remarks and repartees of the 
young couple; then having arranged that Anzoleto should 
give the professor an opportunity of hearing his voice in 
the morning, they separated, leaving him to his serious 
occupations. 

What do you think of that little girl?" said the pro- 
fessor to Zustiniani. 

I saw her but an instant, and I find her sufficiently 
ugly to justify the maxim, that in the eyes of a youth of 
eighteen every woman is handsome." 

‘‘Very good," rejoined the professor; “now permit me 
to inform you that your divine songstress, your siren, your 
mysterious beauty, was no other than Oonsuelo." 

“What! that sooty creature? that dark and meager 
grasshopper? Impossible, maestro!" 

“ No other. Signor Count. Would she not make a fas- 
cinating pri7na donna 

The count stopped, looked back, and clasping his hands 
while he surveyed Oonsuelo at a distance, exclaimed in 
mock despair, “Just Heaven! how canst thou so err as to 
pour the fire of genius into heads so poorly formed?" 

“ So you give up your culpable intentions ?" said the 
professor. 

“ Most certainly." 

“You promise me?" added Porpora. 

“ Oh, I swear it," replied the count. 


CONSUELO. 


13 


CHAPTEE III. 

Born in sunny Italy, brought up by chance like a sea- 
bird sporting on its shores, poor, an orphan, a castaway, 
and nevertheless happy in the present and confiding in the 
future, foundling as he doubtless was — Anzoleto, the 
handsome youth of nineteen who spent his days with little 
Consuelo in perfect freedom on the footways of Venice, 
was not as might be supposed in his first love. Too early 
initiated, he would perhaps have been completely cor- 
rupted and worn out, had he dwelt in our somber climate, 
or had nature endowed him with a feebler organization. 
But early developed and destined to a long and powerful 
career, his heart was pure and his senses were restrained by 
his will. He had met the little Spaniard by chanee, sing- 
ing hymns before the Madonette; and for the pleasure of 
exercising his voice he had joined her for hours together 
beneath the stars. Then they met upon the sands of the 
Lido to gather shell-fish, which he eat, and which she con- 
verted into chaplets and other ornaments. And then 
again they had met in the churches, where she prayed with 
all her heart, -and where he gazed with all his eyes at the 
fine ladies. In all these interviews Consuelo had ap- 
peared to him so good, so sweet, so obliging, and so gay, 
that she had become his inseparable friend and companion 
— he knew not very well how or why. Anzoleto had known 
the joys of love. He felt friendship for Consuelo; and as 
he belonged to a country and a people where passion reigns 
over every other feeling, he knew no other name for this 
attachment than that of love. Consuelo admitted this 
mode of speaking after she had addressed Anzoleto as fol- 
lows: If you are my lover, it is then with the intention 

of marrying me?^^ To which he replied: ‘^Certainly, if 
you wish it we shall marry each other. From that mo- 
ment it was a settled affair. Possibly Anzoleto was amus- 
ing himself, but to Consuelo it was matter of firm convic- 
tion. Even already his young heart experienced those con- 
tradictory and complicated emotions which agitate and 
discompose the existence of those who love too early. 

Given up to violent impulses, greedy of pleasure, loving 
only what promoted his happiness, hating and avoiding 
every thing which opposed his gratifications, at heart an 


14 


G0N8UEL0, 


artist — that is to say, feeling and reveling in life with fright- 
ful intensity — he soon found that his transient attach- 
ments imposed on him the sufferings and dangers of a 
passion which he did not really feel; and he experienced 
the want of sweet companionship and of a chaste and tran- 
quil outlet to his feelings. Then, without understanding 
the charm which drew him to Consuelo — having little ex- 
perience of the beautiful — hardly knowing whether she 
was handsome or ugly — joining for her sake in amuse- 
ments beneath his age — he led with her in public, on the 
marble floors and on the waters of Venice, a life as happy, 
as pure, as retired, and almost as poetic, as that of Paul 
and Virginia in the recesses of the forest. Although they 
enjoyed unrestrained liberty — no watchful, tender parents 
to form them to virtue — no devoted attendant to seek 
them and bring them back to the bosom of their homes — 
not even a dog to warn them of danger — they never ex- 
perienced harm. They skimmed over the waters of the 
lagunes in all times and seasons in their open boat, without 
oars or pilot; they wandered over the marshes without 
guide, without watch, and heedless of the rising waters ; 
they sang before the vine-covered chapels at the corners of 
the streets without thinking of the hour, and sometimes 
with no other couch than the white tiles, still warm with 
the summer rays. They paused before the theater of 
Punchinello, and followed with riveted attention the fan- 
tastic drama of the beautiful Oorisanda, queen of the pup- 
pet show, without thinking of their breakfast or the little 
probability there was of supper. They enjoyed the ex- 
cesses of the carnival, he with his coat turned inside out, 
she with a bunch of old ribbons placed coquettishly over 
her ear. They dined sumptuously — sometimes on the 
balustrades of a bridge or on the steps of a palace — on 
shell-flsh, fennel stalks, and pieces of citron. In short, 
they led a free and joyous life, without incurring more 
risk, or feeling more emotion, than might have been ex- 
perienced by two young people of the same age and sex. 
Days, years passed away. Anzoleto formed other connec- 
tions, while Consuelo never imagined that he could love 
any one but her. She became a young woman without 
feeling it necessary to exercise any further reserve with her 
])errothed; while he saw her undergo this transformation 
wiihout feeling any impatience, or desiring to change this 


CONsriELO. 15 

intimacy, free as it was at once from scruple, mystery, or 
remorse. 

It was already four years since Professor Porpora and 
Zustiniani had mutually introduced their little musicians, 
and during this period the count had never once thought 
of the young chorister. The professor had likewise for- 
gotten the handsome Anzoleto, inasmuch as he had found 
him endowed with none of the qualities desirable in a pupil 
— to wit, a serious, patient disposition, absolute submission 
to his teacher, and complete absence of all musical studies 
before the period of his instruction. “ Do not talk to me,^^ 
said he, “ about a pupil whose mind is any thing else than 
a tal)ula rasa, or virgin wax, on which I am to make the 
first impression. I cannot afford to give up a year to un- 
teach what has been learned before. If you want me to 
write, give me a clear surface, and that too of a good qual- 
ity. If it be too hard I can make no impression on it, if 
too soft I shall destroy it at the first stroke.^’ In short, 
although he acknowledged the extraordinary talents of the 
young Anzoleto, he told the count with some temper and 
ironical humility, at the end of his first lesson, that his 
method was not adapted to a pupil so far advanced, and 
that a master could only embarrass and retard the natural 
progress and invincible development of so superior an or- 
ganization. 

The count sent his protege to Professor Mellifiore, who 
with roulades and cadences, modulations and trills, so de- 
veloped his brilliant qualities, that at twenty-three he was 
considered capable, in the opinion of all those who heard 
him in the saloons of the court, of coming out at San Sam- 
uel in the first parts. One evening the dilettanti, nobility, 
and artists of repute then in Venice, were requested to be 
present at a final and decisive trial. For the first time in 
his life Anzoleto doffed his plebeian attire, put on a black 
coat, a satin vest, and with curled and powdered hair and 
buckles in his shoes, glided over with a composed air to 
the harpsichord, where amid the glare of a hundred wax- 
lights and under the gaze of two or three hundred persons, 
he boldly distended his chest, and made the utmost dis- 
play of powers that were to introduce him into a career 
where not one judge alone, but a whole public, held the 
palm in one hand and downfall in the other. 

We need not ask whether Anzoleto was secretly agitated, 


16 


CONBUELO. 


Nevertheless, he scarcely allowed his emotion to be appar- 
ent; and hardly had his piercing eyes divined by a stealthy 
glance the secret approbation which women rarely refuse 
to grant to so handsome a youth — hardly had the amateurs, 
surprised at the compass of his voice and his facility of ex- 
pression, uttered a few faint murmurs of applause — when 
joy and hope flooded his whole being. For the flrst time 
Anzoleto, hitherto ill-instructed and undervalued, felt that 
he was no common man; and transported by the necessity 
and the consciousness of success, he sang with an origin- 
ality, an energy, and skill, that were altogether remark- 
able. His taste to be sure was not always pure, nor his ex- 
ecution faultless; but he was always able to extricate him- 
self by his boldness, his intelligence, and enthusiasm. He 
failed in elfects which the composer had intended, but he 
realized others which no one ever thought of — neither the 
author who composed, the professor who interpreted, nor 
the virtuoso who rehearsed them. His originality took the 
world by storm. For one innovation his awkwardness was 
pardoned, and for an original sentiment they excused ten 
rebellions against method. So true it is that in point of 
art the least spark of genius — the smallest flight in the di- 
rection of new conquests — exercises a greater fascination 
than all the resources and lights of science within known 
limits. 

Nobody, perhaps, was able to explain these matters, and 
nobody escaped the common enthusiasm. Oorilla began 
by a grand aria, well sung and loudly applauded : yet the 
success of the young debutant was so much greater than 
her own, that she could not help feeling an emotion of 
anger. But when Anzoleto, loaded with caresses and 
praises, returned to the harpsichord where she was seated, 
he said, with a mixture of humility and boldness, ‘‘And 
you, queen of song and queen of beauty! have you not one 
encouraging look for the poor unfortunate who fears and 
yet adores you?’^ The prima donna, surprised at so much 
assurance, looked more closely at the handsome counte- 
nance which till then she had hardly deigned to notice 

for what vain and triumphant woman cares to cast a glance 
on the child of obscurity and poverty ? She looked, and 
was struck with his beauty. The Are of his glances pene- 
trated her soul ; and, vanquished, fascinated in her turn, 
she directed toward him a long and earnest gaze, which 


GONSUELO. 


17 


served to seal his celebrity. In this memorable meeting 
Anzoleto had led the public, and disarmed his most re- 
doubtable adversary; for the beautiful songstress was not 
only queen of the stage, but at the head of the manage- 
ment, and of the cabinet of Count Zustiniani. 


CHAPTER IV. 

In the midst of the general and somewhat exaggerated 
applause which the voice and manner of the debutant had 
drawn forth, a single auditor, seated on the extreme edge 
of his chair, his legs close together and his hands motion- 
less on his knees, after the fashion of the Egyptian gods, 
remained dumb as a sphinx and mysterious as a hierogly- 
phic. It was the able professor and celebrated composer 
Porpora. While his gallant colleague Professor Mellifiore, 
ascribing to himself all the honor of Anzoleto’s success, 
plumed himself before the women and saluted the men, as 
if to thank them even for their looks, the master of sacred 
song, with eyes bent on the ground, silent and severe, 
seemed lost in thought. When the company, who were 
engaged to a ball at the palace of the Doge, had slowly de- 
parted, and the most enthusiastic dilettanti, with some 
ladies, alone remained, Zustiniani approached the severe 
maestro. 

“You are too hard upon us poor moderns, my dear pro- 
fessor,’^ said he; “ but your silence does not impose upon 
me. You would exclude this new and charming style 
which delights us all. But your heart is open in spite of 
you, and your ears have drunk in the seductive poison.” 

“ Come, Sior Professor/’ said the charming Gorilla, re- 
suming with her old master the infantine manners of the 
sciiola, “you must grant me a favor.” ^ 

“Away, unhappy girl!” said the master, partly smiling 
and partly displeased at the caresses of his inconstant 
pupil: “there is no further communion between us. I 
know you no more. Take your sweet smiles and perfidious 
warblings elsewhere.” 

“ There, now; he is coming round,” said Gorilla, taking 
with one hand the arm of the debutant, without letting go 
her hold of the white and ample cravat of the professor, 


18 


C0N8UEL0. 


Come hither, Zoto, and bow the knee before the most 
learned maestro in all Italy. Submit thyself, my child, 
and disarm his rigor; One word from him, if thou couldst 
obtain it, would be more to thee than all the trumpets of 
renown.” 

You have been severe toward me, Signor Professor,” 
said Anzoleto, bending before him with mock humility; 

nevertheless, my only wish for four years has been to in- 
duce you to reverse your cruel judgment; and if I have not 
succeeded to-night, I fear I shall never have the courage to 
appear before the public, loaded with your anathema.” 

Child!” said the professor, rising hastily and speaking 
with an earnestness which imparted something noble to his 
unimpressive figure, ‘Meave false and honied words to 
women. Never descend to the language of flattery, even 
to your superiors — much less to those whose suffrage you 
disdain. It is but an hour ago since, poor, unknown, 
timid, in this little corner, all your prospects hung upon a 
hair — on a note from your throat — a moment’s failure of 
your resources, or the caprice of your audience. Chance*, 
and the effort of an instant, have made you rich, celebrated, 
insolent. Your career is open before you, and you have 
only to go on, so long as your strength sustains you. 
Listen, then; for the first, and perhaps for the last time, 
you are about to hear the truth. You are in a false direc- 
tion ; you sing badly, and love bad music. You know 
nothing, and have studied nothing thoroughly. All you 
have is the facility which exercise imparts. You assume a 
passion which you do not feel; you warble and shake like 
those pretty coquettish damsels whom one pardons for sim- 
pering where they know not how to sing. You know not 
how to combine your phrases; you pronounce badly ; you 
have a vulgar accent, a false and common style. Do not 
be discouraged, however, with all these defects. You have 
wherewith to combat them. Yon have qualities which 
neither labor nor instruction can impart. You have that 
which neither bad advice nor bad example can take away. 
You have the sacred fire — you have genius! Alas! it is a 
fire which will shine upon nothing grand, a genius that 
will remain forever barren; for I have seen it in your eyes, 
as I have felt it in your breast. You have not the worship 
of art; you have not faith in the great masters, nor respect 
for their grand conceptions; you love glory, and glory for 


CONSUELO. 


19 


yourself alone. You might — you could— but, no! it is too 
late! Your destiny will be as the flash of a meteor— like 
that of ’’ 

And the professor, thrusting his hat over his brows, 
turned his back, and without saluting any one, left the 
apartment, absorbed in mentally completing his enigmatic 
sentence. 

Every one tried to laugh at the sententious professor ; 
but his words left a painful impression, and a melancholy 
feeling of doubt, which lasted for some moments. Anzo- 
leto was the first who apparently ceased to think of them, 
though they had occasioned him an intense feeling of joy, 
pride, anger, and emulation, which was destined to influ- 
ence all his after life. He appeared exclusively engaged in 
pleasing Gorilla, and he knew so well how to flatter her, 
that she was very much taken with him at this first meet- 
ing. Count Zustiniani was not jealous, and perhaps had 
his reasons for taking no notice of them. He was inter- 
ested in the fame and success of his theater more than in 
any thing else in the world ; not that he cared about 
money, but because he was a real fanatic in all that related 
to what are termed the fine a7'ts. This, in my opinion, is 
a phrase which is generally employed in a very vulgar 
sense, and being altogether Italian, is consequently enthus- 
iastic and without much discernment. The cultiii'e of art, 
a modern expression, which the world did not make use of 
a hundred years ago, has a meaning altogether different 
from a taste for the fine arts. The count was a man of 
taste in the common acceptation of the word — an amateur, 
and nothing more ; but the gratification of this taste was 
the great business of his life. He loved to be busy about 
the public, and to have the public busy about him — to fre- 
quent the society of artists — to rule the fashion — to have 
his theater, his luxury, his amiability, and his magnificence 
made the subject of conversation. He had, in short, the 
ruling passion of the great noblemen of his country — 
namely, ostentation. To possess and direct a theater was 
the best means of occupying and amusing the whole city. 
He would have been happy if he could have seated the 
whole republic at his table. When strangers asked Pro- 
fessor Porpora who was the Count Zustiniani, he was ac • 
customed to reply — He is one who loves to give entertain- 
ments, and who serves up music at his theater as he would 
pheasants on his table. 


20 


C0N8UEL0. 


It was one in tlie morning before the company separated. 
Anzoleto,” said Gorilla, when alone with him in the em- 
brasure of the balcony, where do yon live?’' At this un- 
expected inquiry, Anzoleto grew pale and red almost at the 
same moment ; for how could he confess to the rich and 
fascinating beauty before him, that he had in a manner 
neither house nor home? Even this response would have 
been easier than to mention the miserable den where he 
was in the habit of taking refuge, when neither inclination 
nor necessity obliged him to pass the night in the open air. 

Well, .what is there so extraordinary in my question?” 
said Gorilla, laughing. 

I am asking myself,” replied Anzoleto, with much 
presence of mind, what royal or fairy palace were fitting 
home for the happy mortal who is honored by a glance 
from Gorilla.” 

What does all this flattery mean?” said she, darting on 
him one of the most bewitching glances contained in the 
storehouse of her charms. 

That I have not that honor,” replied the young man ; 
but that, if I had, I should be content only to float be- 
tween earth and sky, like the stars.” 

Or like the cuccali” said the songstress, bursting into 
a fit of laughter. It is well known that gulls {cuccali) are 
proverbially simple, and to speak of their awkwardness in 
the language of Venice, is equivalent to saying, in ours. 
As stupid as a goose.” 

“ Ridicule me — despise me,” replied Anzoleto ; I would 
rather you should do so than not think of me at all.” 

Well, then,” said she, since you must reply in meta- 
l^hors, I shall take you with me in my gondola ; and if I 
take you away from your abode, instead of taking you to 
it, it will be your own fault.” 

If that be your motive for inquiry, my answer is brief 
and explicit ; my home is on the steps of your palace.” 

Go, then, and await me on the stairs below,” said 
Gorilla, lowering her voice ; ‘‘for Zustiniani may blame the 
indulgence with which I have listened to your nonsense.” 

In the first impulse of his vanity Anzoleto disappeared, 
and darting toward the landing-place of the palace, to the 
prow of Gorilla’s gondola, counted the moments by the beat- 
ing of his fevered pulse. But before she appeared on the 
steps of the palace, many thoughts had passed through the 


GONSUELO. 


21 


anxious and ambitious brain of the debutant. Gorilla,” 
said he to himself, is all powerful ; but if by pleasing her 
1 were to displease the count, or if, in virtue of my too 
easy triumph, I were to destroy her power, and disgust him 
altogether with so inconstant a beauty ” 

111 the midst of these perplexing thoughts, Anzoleto 
measured with a glance the stair, which he might yet re- 
mount, and was planning how to effect his escape, when 
torches gleamed from under the portico, and the beautiful 
Gorilla, wrapped in an ermine cloak, appeared upon the 
upper steps, amid a group of cavaliers anxious to support 
her rounded elbow in the hollow of their hand, and in this 
manner to assist her to descend, as is the custom in 
Venice. 

Well,” said the gondolier of the prima donna to the 
undecided Anzoleto, ^‘what are you doing there? Make 
haste into the gondola, if you have permission; if not, 
proceed on your way, for my lord count is with the 
signora.” 

Anzoleto threw himself into the bottom of the gondola, 
without knowing what he did. He was stupified. But 
scarcely did he find himself there, when he fancied the 
amazement' and indignation which the count would feel, 
should he enter into the gondola with Gorilla, and find 
there his insolent protege. His cruel anxiety was pro- 
tracted for several minutes. The signora had stopped 
aboul half-way down the staircase; she was laughing and 
talking with those about her, and, in discussing a musical 
phrase, she repeated it in several different ways. Her 
clear and thrilling voice died away amid the palaces and 
cupolas of the canal, as the crow of the cock before the 
dawn is lost in the silence of the open country. 

Anzoleto, unable to contain himself, resolved to escape 
by the opening of the gondola which was furthest from 
the stair. He had already thrust aside the glass in its 
panel of black velvet, and had passed one leg through the 
opening, when the second rower of the prima donna, who 
was stationed at the stern, leaning over the edge of the 
little cabin, said in a low voice, They are singing — that 
is as much as to say, ^ You may wait without being 
afraid.^” 

I did not know the usual custom,” thought Anzoleto, 
who still tarried, not without some mixture of conster- 


OONStTMLO. 


nation. Gorilla amused herself by bringing the count aS 
far as the side of the gondola, and kept him standing there, 
while she repeated the ‘^felicissima notte^’ until she had 
left the shore. She then came and placed herself beside 
her new admirer, with as much ease and self-possession as 
if his life and her own fortune had not been at stake. 

Look at Gorilla,” said Ziistiniani to the Gount Bar- 
berigo. Well, I would wager my head that she is not 
alone in yonder gondola.” 

‘^‘•And why do you think so?” replied Barberigo. 

“Because she asked me a thousand times to accompany 
her to her palace.” 

“ Is that your jealousy?” 

“ Oh, I have been long free from that weakness. I 
should be right glad if our prima donna would take a 
fancy to some one who would prevent her from leaving 
Venice, as she sometimes threatens. I could console my- 
self for her desertion of me, but I could neither replace 
her voice nor her talents, nor the ardor with which she 
inspires the public at San Samuel.” 

“ I understand; but who, then, is the happy favorite of 
this mad princess!” 

The count and his friend enumerated all whom Gorilla 
appeared to encourage during the evening. Anzoleto was 
absolutely the only one whom they failed to think of. 


GHAPTER Y. 

A VIOLENT struggle arose in the breast of the happy 
lover, who, agitated and palpitating, was borne on the 
waters through the tranquil night, with the most cele- 
brated beauty of Venice. Anzoleto was transported by his 
ardor, which gratified vanity rendered still more power- 
ful. On the other hand, the fear of displeasing, of being 
scornfully dismissed and impeached, restrained his im- 
petuosity. Prudent and cunning, like a true Venetian as 
he was, he had not aspired to the theater for more than 
six years, without being well informed as to the fantastic 
and imperious women who governed all its intrigues. He 
was well assured that his reign would be of short duration, 
and if he did not withdraw from this dangerous honor, it 


GONSUELO. 


23 


was because be was taken in a measure by surprise. He 
had merely wished to gain tolerance by his courtesy; and, 
behold ! his youth, his beauty, and budding glory, had 
inspired love! ^‘Now,^^ said Anzoleto, with the rapid 
perception which heads of his wonderful organization 
enjoy, there is nothing but to make myself feared, if to- 
morrow I would not be ridiculous. But shall a poor devil 
like myself accomplish this with a haughty beauty like 
Gorilla?” He was soon decided. He began a system of 
distrust, jealousy, and bitterness, of which the passionate 
coquetry astonished the prima donna. Their conversation 
may be resumed as follows: 

Anzoleto. — I know that you do not love me — that you 
will never love me; therefore am I sad and constrained 
beside you.” 

Corilla. — And suppose I were to love you?” 

Anzoleto. — ‘*I should be wretched, because that were to 
fall from heaven into the abyss, and lose you perchance an 
hour after I had gained you, at the price of all my future 
happiness?” 

Corilla. — ^^And what makes you think me so incon- 
stant?” 

Anzoleto. — First, the want of desert on my part; 
second, the ill that is said of you.” 

Corilla. — And who dares to asperse me?” 

Anzoleto. — Every body, because every body adores 
you.” 

Corilla. — Then, if- I were mad enough to like you, 
and to tell you so, would you repel me?” 

Anzoleto. — I know not if I should have the power to 
fly; but if I had, I know that I should never behold you 
again.” 

“Very well,” said Corilla, “I have a fancy to try the 
experiment — Anzoleto, I love you.” 

“ I do not believe it,” replied he. “ If I stay, it is 
because I think you are only mocking me. That is a game 
at which you shall not frighten me, and still less shall you 
pique me.” 

“You wish to try an encounter of wit, I think.” 

“Ko, indeed; I am not in the least to be dreaded, since 
I give you the means of overcoming me; it is to freeze me 
with terror, and to drive me from your presence, in telling 
me seriously what you have just now uttered in jest,” 


24 


CONSUELO. 


You are a knowing fellow, and I see that one must be 
careful what one says to you. You are one of those who 
not only wish to breathe the fragrance of the rose, but 
would pluck and preserve it. I could not have supposed 
you so bold and so decided at your age.^^ 

And do you despise me therefore 
On the contrary, I am the more pleased with you. 
Good-night, Anzoleto; we shall see each other again. 

She held out her white hand, which he kissed passion- 
ately. I have got off famously,^^ said he, as he escaped 
by the passages leading from the canaletto. 

Despairing of gaining access to his nest at so late an hour 
he thought he would lie down at the first porch, to gain 
the heavenly repose which infancy and poverty alone know; 
but for the first time in his life, he could not find a slab suffi- 
ciently smooth for his purpose. The pavement of Venice is 
the cleanest and whitest in the world; still the light dust scat- 
tered over it hardly suited a dark dress of elegant material 
and latest fashion. And then the propriety of the thing ! 
The boatmen who would have carefully stepped over the 
young plebeian, in the morning would have insulted him, 
and perhaps soiled his parasitic livery during his repose. 
What would they have thought of one reposing in the open 
air in silk stockings, fine linen, and lace ruffles? Anzoleto 
regretted his good woollen cap, worn and old, no doubt, 
but thick, and well calculated to resist the unhealthy 
morning fogs of Venice. It was now toward the latter 
end of February; and although the days at this period 
were warm and brilliant, the nights at Venice were still very 
cold. Then he thought he would gain admission into one 
of the gondolas fastened to the bank, but they were all se- 
cured under lock and key. At last he found one of which 
the door yielded; but in getting in he stumbled over the 
legs of the baracole, who had retired for the night. Per 
diavolo! ” said a rough voice from the bottom of the 
cabin, who are you, and what do you want?’^ 

‘‘‘ Is it you, Zanetto?'' replied Anzoleto, recognizing the 
man, who was generally very civil to him; 'Met me stretch 
myself beside you, and dream awhile within your cabin. 

" And who are you?'^ said Zanetto. 

"Anzoleto; do you not know me?’^ 

" Per diavolo, no! You have garments which Anzoleto 
never wore, unless he stole them. Be off! Were you the 


CONSUELO. 


25 


Doge in person I would not open my bark to a man who 
strutted about in fine clothes when he had not a corner to 
rest in/^ 

So, so,^^ thought Anzoleto; the protection and favor 
of the Count Zustiniani have exposed me to greater danger 
and annoyances than they have procured me advantages. 
It is time that my fortune should correspond with my suc- 
cess, and I long to have a few sequins to enable me to sup- 
port the station I have assumed.'’^ 

Sufficiently out of sorts, he sauntered through the de- 
serted streets, not daring to pause a moment, lest the per- 
spiration should be checked which anger and fatigue had 
caused to flow freely forth. It is well if I do not grow 
hoarse,’^ said he to himself; to-morrow the count will 
show me off to some foolish Aristarchus, who, if I have 
the least little feather in the throat in consequence of this 
night^s want of rest, will say that I have no voice; and the 
Signor Count, who knows better, will repeat, ‘If you had 
but heard him last night T ‘He is not equal, theii,' the 
other will observe; ‘ or perhaps he is not in good health;’ 
‘ Or perhaps,’ as a third will aver, ‘ he was tired last night. 
The truth is, he is very young to sing several days in suc- 
cession. Had you not better wait till he is riper and more 
robust?’ And the count will say, ‘Diavolo! if he grow 
hoarse after a couple of songs, he will not answer me.’ 
Then, to make sure that I am strong and well, they will 
make me exercise every day till I am out of breath, and 
break my voice to prove that I have lungs. To the devil 
with their protection, I say! Ah! if I were only free of 
these great folk, and in favor with the public, and courted 
by the theaters, I could sing in their saloons, and treat 
with them as equal powers. 

Thus plotting, Anzoleto reached one of those little spots 
termed corti in Venice. Courts indeed they were not, but 
an assemblage of houses opening on a common space, cor- 
responding with what, in Paris, is called cite. But there 
is nothing in the disposition of these pretended courts like 
the elegant and systematic arrangements of our modern 
squares. They are obscure spots, sometimes impassible, at 
other times allowing passage; but little frequented, and 
dwelt in by persons of slender fortune — laborers, workmen, 
or washerwomen, who stretch their linen across the road, 
somewhat to the annoyance of the passengers, who put up 


26 


C0N8UEL0. 


with it in return for permission to go across. Woe to the 
poor artist who is obliged to open the windows of his 
apartment in these secluded recesses, where rustic life, 
with its noisy unclean habits, reappears in the heart of 
Venice, not two steps from large canals and sumptuous 
edifices! Woe to him if silence be necessary to his occu- 
pation ! for, from morn till night, there is an inter- 
minable uproar, with children, fowls, and dogs, screaming 
and playing within the narrow space, the chatter of women 
in the porches, and the songs of workm.en, which do not 
leave him a moment of repose. Happy, too, if Improvisa- 
tori do not bawl their sonnets till they have gathered a 
coin from every window; or Brighellado not fix her station 
in the court, ready to begin her dialogue afresh with the 
avocato, “ II tedesco e il diavolo,” wwiW she has exhausted 
in vain her eloquence before the dirty children — happy 
spectators, who do not scruple to listen and to look on, al- 
though they have not a farthing in their possession. 

But at night, when all is silent, and when the quiet 
moon lights up the scene, this assemblage of houses of 
every period, united to each other without symmetry or 
pretension, divided by deep shadows full of mystery in 
their recesses, and of a wild spontaneous beauty, presents 
an infinitely picturesque assemblage. Every thing is beau- 
tiful vender the light of the moon. The least architectural 
effect assumes force and character, and the meanest bal- 
cony, with its clustering vine, reminds you of Spain and 
of romantic adventures with the cloak and sword. The 
clear atmosphere in which the distant cupolas rising above 
the dark mass are bathed, sheds on the minutest details of 
the picture a vague yet harmonious coloring, which invites 
one to reveries without end. 

It was in the Corte Minelli, near the church of San 
Fantin, that Anzoleto found himself when the clocks of 
the different churches tolled the hour of two. A secret 
instinct had led his devious steps to the dwelling of one of 
whom he had not thought since the setting of the sun. 
Hardly had he entered the court, when he heard a sweet 
voice call him by the last syllables of his name ; and rais- 
ing his head he saw for an instant a faint profile shadow 
itself on one of the most miserable abodes of the place. 
A moment afterward a door opened, and Consuelo, in a 
muslin petticoat and wrapped in an old black silk mantle, 


CONSUELO, 


27 


which had served as adornment for her mother, 
extended one hand to him, while at the same time she 
placed her finger on her lip to enforce silence. They 
crept up the ruined stair, and, seated at length on 
the terrace, they began one of those long whispering 
conversations, interrupted by kisses, which one hears 
by nights along the level roofs, like the converse of wan- 
dering spirits wafted through the mist, amid the strange 
chimneys hooded with red turbans of all the houses of 
Venice. 

“How, my poor friend!” said Anzoleto ; “have you 
waited for me until now?” 

“ Did you not say you would give me an account of the 
evening, and tell me if you sang well — if you afforded 
pleasure — if they applauded you — if they signed your en- 
gagement?” 

“And you, my best Consuelo,” said Anzoleto, struck ' 
with remorse on seeing the confidence and sweetness of 
this poor girl, “ tell me if my long absence has made you 
impatient — if you are not tired — if you do not feel chill on 
this cold terrace — if you have already supped — if you are 
not ^lngry with me for coming so late — if you are uneasy — 
if you found fault with me.” 

“ No such tiling,” she replied, throwing her arms about 
his neck. “If I have been impatient, it was not with you; 
if I felt wearied — if I was cold — I am no longer so, since 
you are here. Whether I have supped or not I do not 
know; whether I have found fault with you? — why should 
I find fault with you? — if I have been disquieted? — why 
should I have been so? — if I have been angry with you? — 
never!” 

“ You are an angel!” said Anzoleto, returning her caress. 
“Ah, my only consolation! how cold and perfidious are 
all other hearts !” 

“Alas! what has happened? — what have they done to 
the sun of my soul?” exclaimed Consuelo, mixing with 
the sweet Venetian dialect the passionate expressions of 
her native tongue. 

Anzoleto told her all that had happened — even his 
moonlight sail with Gorilla, and more especially the en- 
couragement which she had held out to him ; only he 
smoothed matters over somewhat, saying nothing that 
could vex Consuelo, since in point of fact he had been 


28 


CONBVELO. 


faithful — aud he told almost all. But there is always some 
minute particle of truth on which judical inquiry has 
never thrown light — which no client has revealed to his 
advocate — which no sentence has ever aimed at except by 
chance — because in these few secret facts or intentions is 
the entire cause, the motive, the aim — the object in a 
word — of these great suits, always so badly pleaded and 
always so badly judged, whatever may be the ardor of the 
speakers or the coolness of the magistrate. 

To return to Anzoleto. It is not necessary to say what 
peccadilloes he omitted, what emotions in public he trans- 
lated in his own fashion, what secret palpitations in the 
gondola he forgot to mention. I do not think he even 
spoke of the gondola at all, and as to his flatteries to the 
cantatrice, why they were adroit mystifications by means of 
which he escaped her perilous advances without making her 
angry. Wherefore being unwilling, and I may add unable, to 
mention all the temptations which he had surmounted by his 
prudence and caution, why, dear lady reader, should the 
young rogue awaken jealousy in the bosom of Consuelo? 
Happily for the little Spaniard she knew nothing of jeal- 
ousy. This dark and bitter feeling only afflicts souls that 
have greatly suffered, and hitherto Consuelo had been 
happy in her affection as she was good. The only thing 
that made a profound impression upon her w'as the severe 
yet flattering denunciation of Professor Porpora on the 
adored head of Anzoleto. She made him repeat all the 
expressions which the maestro bad used, and when he 
had done so, pondered on them long and earnestly. 

My little Consuelo,” said Anzoleto without remarking 
her abstraction, it is horribly cold here. Are you not 
afraid of getting cold? Think, my dear, that our prospects 
depend much more upon your voice than upon mine.” 

never get cold,” said she; ^^but you are so lightly 
dressed with your fine clothes. Here now, put on this 
mantle.” 

What would you have me do with this fine bit of torn 
taffeta? I would rather take shelter for half an hour in 
your apartment.^ 

'Tis well,” said Consuelo, but then we must not 
speak, the neighbors would hear us and we should be to 
blame. They are not ill-disposed ; they see us together 
without tormenting me about it, because they know very 


GONSUELO. 29 

well you do not come here at night. You would do better 
to sleep at home.^^ 

Impossible! They will only open at daylight and 
there are still three hours to watch. See, my teeth chat- 
ter with the coldr^ 

“ Well,’^ said Consuelo getting up, I shall let you into 
my room and return to the terrace, so that if any body 
should observe it, it will be seen there is nothing wrong. 

She brought him into a dilapidated apartment, where 
under flowers and frescoes on the wall appeared a second 
picture, almost in a worse condition than the first. A large 
square bed with a mattress of seaweed, and a spotted mus- 
lin coverlet, perfectly clean but patched with fragments of 
every -imaginable color ; a straw chair, a little table, an 
antique guitar, a filagree cross — the only wealth her 
mother had left — a spinet, a great heap of worm-eaten 
music, which Professor Porpora was kind enough to lend 
— such was the furniture of the young artist, daughter of 
a poor Bohemian, the pupil of a celebrated master, and 
the beloved of a handsome adventurer. As there was but 
one chair, and as the table was covered with music, there 
was no seat for Anzoleto but the bed, on which he placed 
himself without hesitation. Hardly was he seated, when, 
overwhelmed with fatigue, his head fell upon the woollen 
cushion which served as a pillow ; but almost immediately, 
starting up again by a violent effort, he exclaimed: 

And you, my poor girl, are you going to take no rest? 
Ah! I am a wretch — I shall go and lie in the streets. 

No,” said Consuelo, gently thrusting him back — ^'you 
are ill and I am not. My mother died a good Catholic ; 
she is now in heaven, and sees us at this very hour. She 
knows you have kept the promise you made to her, never 
to abandon me. She knows that our affection has been 
pure since her death as before. She sees at this moment 
that I neither do nor think what is wrong — that her soul 
may repose in the Lord !” And here Consuelo made the 
sign of the cross. Anzoleto already slumbered. ‘‘I am 
going to tell my beads,” continued Consuelo, moving 
away, that you may not take the fever.” 

Angel that you are 1” faintly murmured Anzoleto, and 
he did not even perceive that he was alone. She had gone 
in fact to the terrace. In a short time she returned to as- 
sure herself that he was not ill, and, finding that he slept 


30 


CONSUELO. 


tranquilly, she gazed long and earnestly at his beautiful 
face, as it lay lighted by the moon. 

Then, determined to resist drowsiness herself, and find- 
ing that the emotions of the evening had caused her to 
neglect her work, she lighted the lamp, and, seated before 
the little table, she noted a composition which Master 
Porpora had required of her for the following day. 


CHAPTEK VI. 

The Count Zustiniani, notwithstanding his philosophi- 
cal composure, was not so indifferent to the insolent cap- 
rices of Gorilla as he pretended. Good-natured, weak, 
frivolous, Zustiniani was only a rake in appearance and by 
his social position. He could not help feeling at the bot- 
tom of his heart the ungrateful return which this insolent 
and foolish girl had made to his generosity; and though at 
that period it was considered the worst possible taste, as 
well at Venice as at Paris, to seem jealous, his Italian 
pride revolted at the absurd and miserable position in 
which Gorilla had placed him. So, the same afternoon 
that had seen Anzoleto shine at the Palazzo Zustiniani, 
the count, after having laughed with Barberigo over the 
tricks of Gorilla, his saloons being emptied and the wax- 
lights extinguished, took down his cloak and sword, and, 
in order to ease his mind, set off for the palazzo inhabited 
by the poor singer. 

He found that she was alone, but still ill at ease, he 
began to converse in a low voice with the barcarole who 
was mooring the gondola of the prima donna under the 
arch reserved for that purpose, and, by virtue of a few 
sequins, he easily convinced himself that he was not mis- 
taken, and that Gorilla had not been alone in the gondola ; 
but who it was that had accompanied her he could not 
ascertain — the gondolier knew not. He had met Anzoleto 
a hundred times in the passages of the theater, or near the 
Palazzo Zustiniani, but failed to recognize him when pow- 
ilered and in his dark attire. 

This inscrutable mystery completed the count’s annoy- 
ance. He consoled himself with ridiculing his rival, the 
only vengeance which good breeding permitted, and not 
less cruel in a gay and frivolous age than murder at more 


COJVSUELO. 


31 


serious periods. He could not sleep ; and at the hour 
when Porpora began his instructions, he set out for the 
Scuola di Mendicanti, and the hall where the young pupils 
were wont to assemble. 

The position of the count with regard to the learned 
professor was for some years past much changed. Zus- 
tiniani was no longer the musical antagonist of Porpora, 
but in some sort his associate and leader. He had advanced 
considerable sums to the establishment over which the 
learned maestro presided, and out of gratitude the directors 
had invested him with the supreme control. The two 
associates then were as good friends as could be expected 
from the intolerance of the maestro with regard to the 
music in vogue — ah intolerance, however, which was con- 
siderably softened by the assistance and resources lavished 
by the count in behalf of tlie propagation of serious music. 
Besides, the latter had brought out at San Samuel an 
opera which the maestro had written. 

My dear master, said Zustiniani, drawing Porpora 
aside, ^^you must not only give me one of your pupils for 
the theater, but say which of them is best calculated to 
replace Gorilla. That artist is wearied, her voice has 
decayed, her caprices ruin us, and the public will be dis- 
gusted. Truly we must obtain a succeditriceJ^ Pardon, 
dear reader, for this was said in Italian, and the count 
made no mistake. 

I have not got what you require, replied Porpora, 
drily. 

‘^What! my dear maestro,^^ exclaimed the count, ^^you 
are not going to fall back into your dark moods? Is it 
after all the sacrifices and all the devotion which I have 
majiifested toward you, that you are going to deny me a 
slight favor when I ask your assistance and advice in my 
own behalf?"^ 

^^I would not be justified in granting it,^' replied the 
professor, '‘and what I have, just said is the truth, told 
you by a friend, and with the desire to oblige you. I have 
not in my school a single person capable of replacing 
Gorilla. I do not estimate her higher than she deserves; 
yet in declaring that the talent of this girl has no real 
worth in my eyes, I am forced to acknowledge that she 
possesses an experience, a skill, a facility, and a sympathy 
with the public, which can only be acquired by years of 


32 


GONSUELO. 


practice, and which could not be attained by other debut- 
antes for a long time.” 

That is true,” said the count; but we made Gorilla, 
we saw her begin, we procured the approbation of the 
public; her beauty gained her three-fourths of her success, 
and you have individuals equally agreeable in your school. 
You cannot deny that, master. Come, admit tliat Clorinda 
is the most beautiful creature in the universe.” 

Yes, but saucy, mincing, insupportable. The public 
perhaps may find her grimaces charming — but she sings 
false, she has neither soul nor intelligence. It is true that 
the public has only ears; but then she has neither memory 
nor address, and she could only save herself from condem- 
nation by the happy charlatanism that succeeds with so 
many others.” 

Thus saying, the professor cast an involuntary glance 
upon Anzoleto, who, under favor of the count, and on 
pretense of listening to the class, had kept a little apart, 
attending to the conversation. 

It matters not,” said Zustiniani, who heeded little the 
master’s rancor; ‘‘I shall not give up my project. It is 
long since I have heard Clorinda. Let her come with five 
or six others, the prettiest that can be found. Come, An- 
zoleto,” said he, smiling, ^^you are well enough attired to 
assume the grave air of a young professor. Go to the 
garden and speak to the most striking of these young 
beauties, and tell them that the professor and I expect 
them here.” 

Anzoleto obeyed, but whether through malice or address, 
he brought the ugliest, so that Jean Jacques might have 
said for once with truth, Sofia was one-eyed, and Cattina 
was a cripple.” 

This quid pro quo was taken in good part; and after 
they had laughed in their sleeves, they dismissed them, 
in order to send those of their companions whom the pro- 
fessor named. A charming group soon made their ap- 
pearance, with Clorinda at their head. 

^^What magnificent hair!” exclaimed the count, as the 
latter passed him with her superb tresses. 

There is much more on than in that head,” said the 
professor, without deigning to lower his voice. 

After an hour’s trial the count could stand it no longer, 
but with courteous expressions to the young ladies, retired 


aoNSUELO. 


33 


full of consternation, after saying in the professor’s ear, 
‘‘ We must not think of these cockatoos!” 

Would your Excellency permit me to say a word re- 
specting the subject which occupies you,” said^Anzoleto in 
a low voice to the count as they descended the steps. 

Speak,” said the count; ‘^do you know this marvel 
whom we seek?” 

‘‘Yes, Eccellenza.” 

“In what sea will you fish up this precious pearl?” 

“At the bottom of the class, where the jealous Porpora 
placed her on the day when you passed your female bat- 
talion in review.” 

“ What! is there a diamond in the school whose splendor 
has never reached my eyes? If Master Porpora has played 
me such a trick ” 

“ Illustrious, the diamond of which* I speak is not 
strictly part of the school; she is only a poor girl who sings 
in the choruses when they require her services, and to 
whom the professor gives lessons partly through charity, 
but still more from love of his art.” 

“In that case her abilities must be extraordinary, for the 
professor is not easily satisfied, and is no way prodigal of 
his time and labor. Could I have heard her perchance 
without knowing it?” 

“ Your Excellency heard her long ago when she was but 
a child. Now she is a young woman — able, studious, wise 
as the professor himself, and capable of extinguishing 
Gorilla on the first occasion that she sings a single air 
beside her in the theater.” 

“ Does she never sing in public? Did she not sing some- 
times at vespers?” 

“Formerly, your Excellency, the professor took pleas- 
ure in hearing her sing in the church; but since then the 
scolari, through jealousy and revenge, have threatened to 
chase her from the tribune if she reappears there by their 
side.” 

“ She is a girl of bad conduct then?” 

“ Oh Heavens! she is a virgin, pure as the newly fallen 
snow! But she is poor and of mean extraction — like my- 
self, Eccellenza, whom you yet deign to elevate by your 
goodness — and the§e wicked harpies have threatened to 
complain to you of bringing into their class a pupil who 
did not belong to it.” 


34 


CONSUELO. 


Where can I hear this wonder?’^ 

Let your Highness order the professor to make her 
sing before you, and you can then judge of her voice and 
the amount of her talent.” 

Your confidence inclines me to believe you. 'You say 
I heard her long since? I cannot remember when?” 

In the church of the Mendicanti, on a general rehear- 
sal of the ' Salve Regina^ of Pergolese.” 

Oh, I remember now,” exclaimed the count; ‘'voice, 
accent, and intelligence equally admirable !” 

“ She was then but fourteen, my Lord — no better than 
a child.” 

“Yes — but now I think of it, I remember she was not 
handsome.” 

“ Not handsome, Eccellenza !” exclaimed Anzoleto, 
quite astounded.* 

“She was called — let me see — was it not a Spanish 
name — something out of the way ?” 

“It was Consuelo, my Lord.” 

“Yes, that is the name ; you were to marry her then, a 
step which made the professor and myself laugh a little. 
Consuelo — yes, it is the same; the favorite of the professor, 
an intelligent girl, but very ugly.” 

“ Very ugly ?” repeated Anzoleto, as if stupified. 

“Yes, my child. Do you still admire her ?” 

“ She is my friend, Illustrissimo.” 

“Friend! that is to say sister or sweetheart — which of 
the two ?” 

“Sister, my master.” 

“ In that case I can give you an answer without pain- 
ing you; your idea is devoid of comimon sense. To replace 
Gorilla it would require an angel of beauty, and your Con- 
suelo, if I remember rightly, was not only ugly, but fright- 

The count was accosted at this moment by one of his 
friends, and left Anzoleto, who was struck dumb with 
amazement, and who repeated with a sigh, “She is 
frightful I” 


CONSVELO. 


35 


CHAPTER VII. 

It may appear rather astonishing, dear reader, ana yet 
it is very certain, that Anzoleto never had formed an 
opinion of the beauty or the ugliness of Consuelo. Con- 
suelo was a being so solitary, so unknown in Venice, that 
no one had thought of seeking whether, beneath this veil 
of isolation and obscurity, intelligence and goodness had 
ended by showing tliemselves under an agreeable or insig- 
nificant form. Porpora, who had no senses but for his art, 
had only seen in her the artist. Her neighbors of the 
Corte Minelli observed, without attaching any blame to it, 
her innocent love for Anzoleto. At Venice they are not 
particular on this score. They predicted indeed very often, 
that she would be unhappy with this youth without busi- 
ness or calling, and they counseled her rather to seek to 
establish herself with some honest workman. But she re- 
plied to them that, as she herself was without friends or 
support, Anzoleto suited her perfectly, and as for six years 
no day had passed without their seeing them together, 
never seeking any concealment and never quarreling, tliey 
had ended by accustoming themselves to their free and 
apparently indissoluble union, and no neighbor had ever 
paid court to the arnica of Anzoleto. Whether was this 
owing to her supposed engagement or to her extreme 
poverty? — or was it, perhaps, that her person had no attrac- 
tions for them ? This last supposition is the most prob- 
able. 

Every one knows, however, that from fourteen to fifteen, 
girls are generally thin, out of sorts, without harmony 
either as to proportions or movements. Toward fifteen, 
to use a common expression, they undergo a sort of fusion, 
after which they become, if not pretty, at least agreeable. 
It has even been remarked that it is not desirable that a 
young girl should grow good-looking too early. 

Consuelo, like others, had gained all the benefits of 
adolescence; she was no longer called ugly, simply because 
she had ceased to be so. And as she was neither Dauphine 
nor Infanta, however, there were no crowds of courtiers to 
proclaim that her royal highness grew day by day more 
beautiful; and no one was sufficiently solicitous to tell An- 
zoleto that he should have no occasion to blush for his 
bride. 


36 


CONSUJSLO, 


Since Anzoleto had heard her termed ugly at an age 
when the word had neither sense nor meaning, he had for- 
gotten to think about it ; his vanity had taken anotlier 
direction. The theater and renown were all his care, and 
he had no time to think of conquests. His curiosity'was ap- 
peased — he had no more to learn. At twenty-two he was 
in a measure blase; yet his atfection for Consuelo was 
tranquil as at eighteen, despite a few chaste kisses, taken 
as they were given, without shame. 

Let us not be astonished at this calmness and propriety 
on the part of a youth in other respects not over-particular. 
Our young people had ceased to live as described at the 
beginning of this history. Consuelo, now nearly sixteen, 
continued her somewhat wandering life, leaving the con- 
servatory to eat her rice and repeat her lesson on the steps 
of the Piazetta with Anzoleto. When her mother, w'orn 
out by fatigue, ceased to sing for charity in the coffee- 
houses in the evening, the poor creature sought refuge in 
one of the most miserable garrets of the Corte Minelli, to 
die upon a pallet. Then the good Consuelo, quitting her 
no more, entirely changed her manner of life. Exclusive 
of the hours when the professor deigned to give his lessons, 
she labored sometimes at her needle, sometimes at counter- 
point, but always at the bedside of her imperious and des- 
pairing mother, who had cruelly ill-treated her in her in- 
fancy, and who now presented the frightful spectacle of a last 
struggle without courage and without virtue. The filial piety 
and devotion of Consuelo never flagged for a single instant. 
The pleasures of youth and of her free and wandering life 
— even love itself — all were sacrificed without a moment’s 
hesitation or regret. Anzoleto made bitter complaints, but 
finding reproaches useless, resolved to forget her and to 
amuse himself; but this he found impossible. He had none 
of the industry of Consuelo; he learned quickly but imper- 
fectly the inferior lessons which his teacher, to gain the 
salary promised by Zustiniani, gave him equally quickly 
and equally ill. This was all very well for Anzoleto, in 
whom prodigal nature made up for lost time and the effects 
of inferior instruction, but there were hours of leisure dur- 
ing which the friendly and cheerful society of Consuelo 
were found sadly wanting. He tried to addict himself to 
the habits of his class ; he frequented public-houses, and 
wasted with young scape-graces the trifling bounties he en- 


CONSUELO. 


37 


joyed through the favor of Count Zustiniani. This sort of 
life pleased him for some weeks; but he soon found that 
his health and his voice were becoming sensibly impaired — 
that the far-niente was not excess, and that excess was not 
his element. Preserved from bad passions through a higher 
species of self-love, he retired to solitude and study ; but 
they only presented a frightful mixture of gloom and diffi- 
culty. He saw that Consuelo was no less necessary to his 
talents than to his happiness. She was studious and per- 
severing — living in an atmosphere of music as a bird in the 
air or a fish in the wave — loving to overcome difficulties 
without inquiring into their nature any more than a child 
— but impelled to combat the obstacles and penetrate the 
mysteries of art, by an instinct invisible as that which 
causes the germ to penetrate the soil and seek the air. 
Consuelo enjoyed one of those rare and happy tempera- 
ments for which labor is an enjoyment, a sort of repose, a 
necessary condition, and to which inaction would be an 
effort, a waste, in short a disease — if inaction indeed to 
such natures were possible. But they know nothing of the 
kind; in apparent idleness they still labor, but it is not so 
much reverie as meditation. In seeing them act, one 
would suppose* that they were creating, whereas they but 
give expression to what has been already created. You will 
tell me, gentle reader, that you have never known such 
rare temperaments; to which I shall reply, dearly beloved 
reader, that I have met with but one. If so, am I older 
than you? Why can I not. tell you that I have analyzed in 
my own poor brain the divine mystery of this intellectual 
activity? But alas! friendly reader, it is neither you nor I 
who shall study this in ourselves. 

Consuelo worked on, amusing herself the while. She 
persisted for hours together, either by free and capricious 
flights of song or by study on the book, to vanquish diffi- 
culties which would have repelled Anzoleto if left to him- 
self; and without any idea of emulation or premeditated 
design, she forced him to follow her, to second her, to com- 
prehend and to reply to her — sometimes, as it were, in the 
midst of almost childish bursts of laughter — sometimes 
borne away by the poetic and creative fantasia, which per- 
vades the popular temperament of It^ly and Spain! Dur- 
ing the many years in which he was influenced by the 
genius of Consuelo— drinking at a source which he did not 


38 


CONSUELO. 


comprehend — copying her without knowing it, Anzoleto, 
held besides in chains by his indolence, had become a 
strange compound of knowledge and ignorance, of inspira- 
tion and frivolity, of power and weakness, of boldness and 
awkwardness, such as had plunged Porpora at the 'last re- 
hearsal into a perfect labyrinth of meditation and conjec- 
ture. The maestro did not know the secret of the riches 
which he had borrowed from Oonsuelo ; for having once 
severely scolded the little one for her intimacy with this 
great idler, he had never again seen them together. Oon- 
suelo, bent upon maintaining the good-will of her master, 
took care whenever she saw him at a distance, if in com- 
pany with Anzoleto, to hide herself with agile bounds 
behind a column, or to disappear in the recesses of some 
gondola. 

These precautions were still continued, when, Oonsuelo 
having become a nurse, Anzoleto, unable to support her 
absence, and feeling life, hope, inspiration, and even exist- 
ence failing him, returned to share her sedentary life, and 
to bear with her the sourness and angry whims of the dying 
woman. Some months before the close of her life, the un- 
happy creature, broken down by her sufferings, and van- 
quished by the filial piety of her daughter’, felt her soul 
opened to milder emotions. She habituated herself to the 
attentions of Anzoleto, who, although little accustomed to 
acts of friendship and self-denial, displayed a zealous kind- 
ness and good-will toward the feeble sufferer. Anzoleto 
had an even temper and gentle demeanor. His persever- 
ance toward her and Oonsuelo at length won her heart, 
and in her last moments she made them promise never to 
abandon each other. Anzoleto promised, and even felt in 
this solemn act a depth of feeling to which he had been 
hitherto a stranger. The dying woman made the engage- 
ment easier to him by saying: Let her be your friend, 

your sister, or your wife, only leave her not ; she knows 
none, has listened to none, but you.^’ 

Oonsuelo, now an orphan, continued to ply her needle 
and study music, as well to procure means for the present 
as to prepare for her union With Anzoleto. During two 
years he continued to visit her in her garret, without ex- 
periencing any passion for her, or being able to feel it for 
others, so much did the charm of being with her seem 
preferable to all other things. 


aONSUELO. 


39 


Without fully appreciating the lofty faculties of his com- 
panion, he could see that her attainments and capabilities 
were superior to those of any of the singers at San Samuel, 
or even to those of Gorilla herself. To his habitual affec- 
tion were now added the hope, and almost the conviction, 
that a community of interests would render their future 
existence at once brilliant and profitable. Oonsuelo thought 
little of the future ; foresight was not among her good 
qualities. She would have cultivated music without any 
other end in view than that of fulfilling her vocation; and 
the community of interest which the practice of that art 
was to realize between her and her friend, had no other 
meaning to her than that of an association of happiness 
and affection. It was therefore without apprising her of 
it, that he conceived the hope of realizing their dreams ; 
and learning that Zustiniani had decided on replacing Gor- 
illa, Anzoleto, sagaciously divining the wishes of his 
patron, had made the proposal which has already been 
mentioned. 

But Gonsuelo^s ugliness — this strange, unexpected, and 
invincible drawback, if the count indeed were not deceived 
— had struck terror and consternation to his soul. So he 
retraced his steps to the Gorte Minelli, stopping every in- 
stant to recall to his mind in a new point of view, the like- 
ness of his friend, and to repeat again and again ‘‘Not 
pretty ? — ugly ? — frightful T* 


GH AFTER VIII. 

“Why do you stare at me so?’^ said Gonsuelo, seeing 
him enter her apartment, and fix a steady gaze upon her, 
without uttering a word, “ One would think you had 
never seen me before. 

“ It is true, Gonsuelo,^^ he replied ; “ I have never seen 
you."" 

“Are you crazy?"" continued she; “I know not what 
you mean."" 

“Ah, Heavens! I fear I am,"" exclaimed Anzoleto. “I 
have a dark, hideous spot in my brain, which prevents me 
from seeing you."" 

“ Holy Virgin! you are ill, my friend!"" 

“ No, dear girl ; calm yourself, and let us endeavor to 


40 aoi^strsio. 

see clearly. Tell me, Oonsuelo, do you think me 
handsome 

^‘Surely I do, since I love you.^^ 

^‘But if YOU did not love me, what would you think of 
me then?’’ *' 

How can I know?” 

'‘But when you look at other men, do you know whether 
they are handsome or ugly?” 

'' Yes ; but I find you handsomer than the handsomest.” 

"Is it because I am so or because you love me?” 

" Both one and the other, I think. Every body calls 
you handsome, and you know that you are so. But why 
do you ask?” 

" I wish to know if you would love me were I frightful?” 

" I should not be aware of it perhaps.” 

" Do you believe, then, that it is possible to love one 
who is ugly?” 

"Why not, since you love me?” 

"Are you ugly, then, Consuelo? Tell me truly — are 
you indeed ugly?” 

" They have always told me so — do you not see it?” 

"No ; in truth, I see no such thing.” 

" In that case, I am handsome enough, and am well 
satisfied.” 

"Hold there, Consuelo. When you look at me so 
sweetly, so lovingly, so naturally, I think you prettier far 
than Gorilla ; but I want to know if it be an illusion of my 
imagination or reality. I know the expression of your 
countenance ; I know that it is good, and that it pleases 
me. When I am angry, it calms me ; when sorrowful, it 
cheers me ; when I am cast down, it revives me. But 
your features, Consuelo, I cannot tell if they are ugly or 
not.” 

"But I ask you once more, what does it concern you?” 

" I must know ; tell me, therefore, if it be possible for a 
handsome man to love an ugly woman.” 

" You loved my poor mother, who was no better than a 
specter, and I loved her so dearly!” 

"And did you think her ugly?” 

" No ; did you?” 

" I thought nothing about it. But to love with pas- 
sion, Consuelo— for, in truth, I love you passionately, do I 
not? I cannot live without you — cannot quit you. Is not 
that love, Consuelo?’^ 


G0N8UEL0. 


41 


Could it be anything else?’" 

Could it be friendship?” 

‘‘Yes, it might, indeed, be friendship ” 

Here the much surprised Consuelo paused and looked 
attentively at Anzoleto, while he, falling into a melan- 
choly reverie, asked himself for the first "time whether it 
was love or friendship which he felt for Consuelo ; or 
whether the moderation and propriety of his demeanor 
were the result of respect or indifference. For the first 
time he looked at the young girl witli the eyes of a youth ; 
analyzed, not without difficulty, her face, her form,- her 
eyes — all the details in fine of which he had had hitherto 
but a confused ideal in his mind. For the first time Con- 
suelo was embarrassed by the demeanor of her friend. 
She blushed, her heart beat with violence, and she turned 
aside her head, unable to support Anzoleto’s gaze. At 
last, as he preserved a silence which she did not care to 
break, a feeling of anguish took possession of lier heart, 
tears rolled down her cheeks, and she hid her face in her 
hands. 

“Oh, I see it plainly,” said she; “you have come to 
tell me that you will no longer have me for your friend.” 

“No, no ; I did not say that — I did not say that!” ex- 
claimed Anzoleto, terrified by the tears which he caused 
her to shed for the first time ; and, restored to all his 
brotherly feeling, he folded Consuelo in his arms. But as 
she turned her head aside, he kissed, in place of her calm, 
cool check, a glowing shoulder, ill-concealed by a handker- 
chief of black lace. 

“ 1 know not well what ails me,” exclaimed Consuelo, 
tearing herself from his arms ; “ I think I am ill ; I feel 
as if I were going to die.” 

“ You must not die,” said Anzoleto, following and sup- 
porting her in his arms; “you are fair, Consuelo — yes, 
you are fair!” 

In truth, she was then very fair. Anzoleto never in- 
quired how, but he could not help repeating it, for his 
heart felt it warmly. 

“ But,” said Consuelo, pale and agitated, “ why do you 
insist so on finding me pretty to-day?” 

“Would you not wish to be so, dear Consuelo?” 

“Yes, for you!” 

“And for others too ?^' 


42 


CONSUELO. 


It concerns me not.” 

'^But if it influenced our future prospects?” Here An- 
zoleto, seeing the uneasiness which he caused his be- 
trothed, told her candidly all that had occurred between 
the count and himself. And when he came to repeat the 
expressions, any thing but flattering, which Zustiniani had 
employed when speaking of her, the good Consuelo, now 
perfectly tranquil, could not restrain a violent burst of 
laughter, drying at the same time her tear-stained eyes. 

“ Well?” said Anzoleto, surprised at this total absence 
of vanity, do you take it so coolly? Ah! Consuelo, I can 
see that you are a little coquette. You know very well 
that you are not ugly.” 

Listen,” said she, smiling; since you are so serious 
about trifles, I find I must satisfy you a little. I never was a 
coquette, and not being handsome, do not wish to seem 
ridiculous. But as to being ugly, I am no longer so.” 

Indeed! Who has told you?” 

First it was my mother, who was never uneasy about 
my ugliness. I heard her often say that she was far less 
passable than I in her infancy, and yet when she was 
twenty she was the handsomest girl in Burgos. You know 
that when the people looked at her in the cafes where she 
sang, they said, ‘ This woman must have been once beauti- 
ful.^ See, my good friend, beauty is fleeting ; when its 
possessor is sunk in poverty it lasts for a moment and then 
is no more. I might become handsome — who knows? — if 
I was not to be too much exhausted, if I got sound rest, 
and did not suft'er too much from hunger.” 

Consuelo, we will never part. I shall soon be rich. 
You will then want for nothing, and can be pretty at your 
ease.” 

^‘Heaven grant it; but God’s will be done!” 

But all this is nothing to the purpose; we must see if 
the count will find you handsome enough for the theater.” 

That hard-hearted count! Let us trust that he will 
not be too exacting.” 

First and foremost then, you are not ugly?” 

^‘No; I am not ugly. I heard the glass-blower over the 
way there say not long ago to his wife, ‘ Do you know that 
little Consuelo is not so much amiss. She has a fine 
figure, and when she laughs she fills one’s heart with joy; 
but when she sings, oh, how beautiful she is!’ ” 


C0N8UEL0. 


43 


And what did the glass-blower^s wife say?’^ 

‘‘She said: ‘ What is it to yon? Mind your business. 
What has a married man to do with young girls?’” 

“Did she appear angry?” 

“ Oh, very angry.” 

“ It is a good sign. She knew that her husband was not 
far wrong. Well, what more?” 

“ Why, the Countess Moncenigo, who gives out work 
and has always been kind to me, said last week to Dr. An- 
cillo, who was there when I called: ‘Only look, doctor, 
how this Zitella has grown, how fair she is and how well 
made!’ ” 

“And what did the doctor say?” 

“ ‘Very true, madam,’ said he; ^ per Bacco! I should not 
have known her: she is one of those constitutions that be- 
come handsome when they gain a little fat. She will be a 
fine girl, you will see that.’” 

“And what more?” 

“ Then the superior of Santa Chiara, for whom I work 
embroidery for the altars, said to one of the sisters: ‘Does 
not Consuelo resemble Santa Cecilia? Every time that I 
pray before her image I cannot help thinking of this little 
one, and then I pray for her that she may never fall into 
sin and that she may never sing but for the church.”’ 

“And what said the sister?” 

“ The sister replied : ‘ It is true, mother — it is quite true.’ 
As for myself, I hastened to the church and looked at their 
Cecilia, which is painted by a great master, and is very, 
very beautiful.” 

‘‘And like you?” 

“A little.” 

“And you never told me that?” 

“ I never thought of it.” 

“Dear Consuelo, you are beautiful then?” 

“ I do not think so; but I am not so ugly as they say. 
One thing is certain — they no longer call me ugly. Per- 
haps they think it would give me pain to hear it.”’ 

“ Let me see, little Consuelo; look at me. First, you 
have the most beautiful eyes in the world.” 

“But my mouth is large,” said Consuelo, laughing, and 
taking up a broken bit of looking-glass which served her 
as a pysche. 

“ It is not very small indeed, but then what glorious 


44 


CONSUBLO. 


teeth said Anzoleto; they are as white as pearls, and 
when you smile you show them all/^ 

In that case you must say something that will make 
me laugh, when we are with the count/^ 

‘‘You have magnificent hair, Consuelo.’^ 

“ Oh yes; would you like to see it?^’ and she loosed the 
pins which fastened it, and her dark shining locks fell in 
flowing masses to the floor. 

“ Your chest is broad, your waist small, your shoulders 
— ah, they are beautiful, ConsueloT^ 

“My feet,” said Consuelo, turning the conversation, 
“are not so bad;” and she held up a little Andalusian 
foot, a beauty almost unknown in Venice. 

“ Your hand is beautiful, also,” said Anzoleto, kissing for 
the first time that hand which he had hitherto clasped only 
in compassion. “ Let me see your arms.” 

“ But you have seen them a hundred times,” said she, 
removing her long gloves. 

“ No; I have never seen them,” said Anzoleto, whose 
admiration every moment increased, and he again relapsed 
into silence, gazing with beaming eyes on the young girl, 
in whom each moment he discovered new beauties. 

All at once Consuelo, embarrassed by this display, en- 
deavored to regain her former quiet enjoyment, and began 
to pace up and down the apartment, gesticulating and 
singing from time to time in a somewhat exaggerated 
fashion, several passages from the lyric drama, just as if 
she were a performer on the stage. 

“ Magnificent !” exclaimed Anzoleto, ravished with sur- 
prise at finding her capable of a display which she had not 
hitherto manifested. 

“ It is any thing but magnificent,” said Consuelo, reseat- 
ing herself; “and I hope you only spoke in jest.” 

“ It would be magnificent on the boards at any rate. I 
assure you there would not be a gesture too much. Cor- 
illa would burst with jealousy, for it is just the way she 
gets on when they applaud her to the skies.” 

“ My dear Anzoleto, I do not wish that Corillo should 
grow jealous about any such nonsense; if the public were 
to applaud me merely because I knew how to ape her, I 
would never appear before them.” 

“You would do better then ?” 

I hope so, or I ehowld never attempt it/^ 


CONSUBLO. 


45 


^^Very well; how would you manage T* 
cannot say.” 

(( Xry.” 

''No; for all this is but a dream; and until they have 
decided whether I am ugly or not, we had better not plan 
any more fine projects. Perhaps we are a little mad just 
now, and after all, as the count has said, Consuelo may be 
frightful.” 

This last supposition caused Anzoleto to take his leave. 


CHAPTER IX. 

At this period of his life, though almost unknown to 
biographers, Porpora, one of the best Italian composers of 
the eighteenth century, the pupil of Scarlatti, the master 
of Hasse, Farinelli, Oafariello, Mingotti, Salimbini, Hu- 
bert (surnamed the Porporino), of Gabrielli, of Monteni — 
in a word, the founder of the most celebrated school of his 
time — languished in obscurity at Venice, in a condition 
bordering on poverty and despair. Nevertheless, he liad 
formerly been director of the conservatory of the Aspeda- 
letto in the same city, and this period of his life had been 
even brilliant. He had there written and performed his 
best operas, his most beautiful cantatas, and his finest 
church music. Invited to Vienna in 1728, he had there 
after some effort gained the favor of the Emperor Charles 
VI. Patronized at the court of Saxony, where he gave 
lessons to the electoral princess, Porpora from that repaired 
to London, where he rivaled for nine or ten years the 
glory of Handel, the master of masters, whose star at that 
period had begun to pale. The genius of the latter, how- 
ever, obtained the supremacy, and Porpora, wounded in 
pride and purse, had returned to Venice to resume the 
direction of another conservatory. He still composed 
operas, but found it difficult to get them represented. 
His last, although written in Venice, was brought out in 
London, where it had no success. His genius had in- 
curred these serious assaults, against which fortune and 
glory might perhaps have sustained him ; but the neglect 
and ingratitude of Hasse, Farinelli, and Oafariello, broke 
liis heart, soured his character, and poisoned his old age. 
lie is known to have died miserable and neglected in his 
eightieth year at Naples. 


46 


CONSUELO. 


At the period when Count Zustiniani, foreseeing and al- 
most desiring the defection of Corillo, sought to replace 
her, Porpora was subject to violent fits of ill humor, not 
always without foundation; for if they preferred .and sang 
at Venice the music of Jomilli, of Lotti, of Oarissimi, of 
Gaspirini, and other excellent masters, they also adopted 
without discrimination the productions of Cocchi, of Buini, 
of Salvator Apollini, and otlier local composers, whose 
common and easy style served to flatter mediocrity. . The 
operas of Hasse could not please a master justly dissatis- 
fied. The worthy but unfortunate Porpora, therefore, 
closing his heart and ears alike to modern productions, 
sought to crush them under the glory and authority of the 
ancients. He judged too severely of the graceful composi- 
tions of Galuppi, and even the original fantasias of Chioz- 
zetto, a favorite composer at Venice. In short, he would 
only speak of Martini, Durante, Monte Verde, and Pales- 
trina; I do not know if even Marcello and Leo found favor 
in his eyes. It was therefore with reserve and dissatisfac- 
tion that he received the first overtures of Zustiniani 
concerning his poor pupil, whose good fortune and glory 
he nevertheless desired to promote; for he had too much 
experience not to be aware of her abilities and her deserts. 
But he shook his head at the idea of the profanation of a 
genius so pure, and so liberally nurtured on the sacred 
manna of the old masters, and replied — Take her if it 
must be so — this spotless soul, this stainless intellect — cast 
her to the dogs, hand her over to the brutes, for such 
seems the destiny of genius at the period in which we 
live.'’^ 

This dissatisfaction, at once grave and ludicrous, gave 
the count a lofty idea of the merit of the pupil from the 
high value which the severe master attached to it. 

‘‘So, so, my dear maestro,^^ he exclaimed ; “is that in- 
deed your opinion? is this Consuelo a creature so extra- 
ordinary, so divine 

‘‘You shall hear her,” said Porpora, with an air of resig- 
nation, while he murmured, “ It is her destiny.” 

The count succeeded in raising the spirits of the master 
from their state of depression, and led him to expect a 
serious reform in the choice of operas. He promised to 
exclude inferior productions so soon as he should succeed 
ill getting rid of Gorilla, to whose caprices he attributed 


C0N8UEL0. 




their admission and success. He even dexterously gave 
him to understand that he would be very reserved as to 
Hasse ; and declared that if Porpora would write an opera 
for Consuelo, the pupil would confer a double glory on her 
master in expressing his thoughts in a style which suited 
them, as well as realize a lyric triumph for San Samuel 
and for the count. 

Porpora, fairly vanquished, began to thaw, and now 
secretly longed for the coming out of bis pupil, as much 
as he had hitherto dreaded it from the fear that she should 
be the means of adding fresh luster to the productions of 
his rivals. But as the count expressed some anxiety 
touching Consuelo’s appearance, he refused to permit him 
to hear her in private and without preparation. 

I do not wish yon to suppose, said he, in reply to the 
coLiiiPs questions and entreaties, that she is a beauty. 
A poorly dressed and timid girl, in presence of a nobleman 
and a judge — a child of the people, who has never been 
the object of the slightest attention — cannot dispense with 
some preparatory toilet. And besides Consuelo is one whose 
expression genius ennobles in an extraordinary degree. 
She must be seen and heard at the same time. Leave it 
all to me ; if you are not satisfied you may leave her alone, 
and I shall find out means of making her a good nun, who 
will be the glory of the school and the instructress of future 
pupils/^ Such in fact was the destiny which Porpora had 
planned for Consuelo. 

When he saw. his pupil again, he told her that she was 
to be heard and an opinion given of her by the count ; but 
as she was uneasy on the score of her looks, he gave her to 
understand that she would not be seen — in short, that she 
would sing behind the organ-screen, the count being 
merely present at the service in the church. He advised 
her, however, to dress with some attention to appearance, 
as she would have to be presented, and though the noble 
master was poor he gave her money for the purpose. Con- 
suelo, frightened and agitated, busied for the first time in 
her life with attention to her person, hastened to see after 
her toilet and her voice. She tried the last, and found it 
so fresh, so brilliant, and so full, that Anzoleto, to whom 
she sung, more than once repeated with ecstasy, Alas ! 
why should they require more than that she knows how to 
siug?^^ 


48 


COmUELO. 


CHAPTEK X. 

the eve of the important day, Anzoleto found Con- 
suelo’s door closed and locked, and after having waited for 
a quarter of an hour on the stairs, he finally obtained per- 
mission to see his friend in her festal attire, the effect of 
which she wished to try before him. She had on a hand- 
some flowered muslin dress, a lace handkerchief, and pow- 
der. She was so much altered, that Anzoleto was for some 
moments uncertain whether she had gained or lost by the 
change. The hesitation which Consuelo read in his eyes 
was as the stroke of a dagger to her heart. 

Ah \” said she, see very well that I do not please 
you. How can I hope to please a stranger, when he who 
loves me sees nothing agreeable in my appearance?” 

Wait a little,” replied Anzoleto. I like your elegant 
figure in those long stays, and the distinguished air which 
this lace gives you. The large folds of your petticoat suit 
you to admiration, but I regret your long black hair. 
However, it is the fashion, and to-morrow you must be a 
lady.” 

And why must I be a lady? For my part I hate this 
powder, which fades one, and makes even the most beauti- 
ful grow old before her time. I have an artificial air under 
all these furbelows ; in short I am not satisfied with 
myself, and I see^you are not so either. Oh! by the bye, 
1 was at rehearsal this morning, and saw Clorinda, who 
also was trying on a new dress. She was so gay, so fear- 
less, so handsome (oh! she must be happy — you need not 
look twice at her to be sure of her beauty), that I feel 
afraid of appearing beside her before the count.” 

You may be easy ; the count has seen her, and has 
heard her too.” . 

‘‘And did she sing badly?” 

“ As she always does.” 

“Ah, my friend, these rivalries spoil the disposition. A 
little while ago, if Clorinda, who is a good girl notwith- 
standing her vanity, had been spoken of unfavorably by a 
judge, I should have been sorry for her from the bottom 
of my heart ; I should have shared her grief and humili- 
ation ; and now I find myself rejoicing at it! To strive, 
to envy, to seek to injure each other, and all that for a 


CONSUELO, 


49 


iiuiii whom we do not love, whom we do not even know! 
I feel very low-spirited, my dear love, and it seems to me 
as if I were as much frightened by the idea of succeeding 
as by that of failing. It seems as if our happiness was 
coming to a close, and that to-morrow after the trial, 
whatever may be the result, I shall return to this poor 
apartment a different person from what I have hitherto 
lived in it.” 

Two large tears rolled down Oonsuelo’s cheeks. 

What! are you going to cry now?” said Anzoleto. Do 
you think of what you are doing? 'You will dim your eyes 
and swell your eyelids. Your eyes, Consuelo! do not spoil 
your eyes, with are the most beautiful feature inyour face.” 

Or rather the least ugly,” said she, wiping away her 
tears. ‘‘ Come, when we give ourselves up to the world 
we have no longer any right to weep.” 

Her friend tried to console her, but she was exceedingly 
dejected all the rest of the day ; and in the evening, as 
soon as she was alone, she carefully brushed out the pow- 
der, combed and smoothed her ebon hair, tried on a little 
dress of black silk, still fresh and well preserved, which she 
usually wore on Sundays, and recovered some portion of 
her confidence on once more recognizing herself in her 
mirror. Then she prayed fervently and thought of her 
mother, until, melted to tears, she cried herself to sleep. 
When Anzoleto came to seek her the next day in order to 
conduct her to the church, he found her seated before her 
spinet, dressed as for a holyday, and practicing her trial 
piece. What!” cried he, ‘‘your hair not dressed! not 
yet ready! It is almost the hour. What are you thinking 
of, Consuelo?” 

“My friend,” answered she resolutely, “my hair is 
dressed, I am ready, I am tranquil. I wish to go as I 
am. Those fine robes do not suit me. You like my black 
hair better than if it were covered with powder. This 
waist does not i?npede my breathing. Do not endeavor to 
change my resolution ; I have made up my mind. I have 
prayed to God to direct me, and my mother to watch over 
my conduct. God has directed me to be modest and sim- 
ple. My mother has visited me in my dreams, and she 
said what she has always said to me ; ‘ Try to sing well — 
Providence will do the rest.^ I saw her take my fine dress, 
my laces and my ribbons, and arrange them m the ward- 


50 


CONSUELO, 


robe; and then she put nij black frock and my mantilla of 
muslin on the chair at the side of my bed. As soon as I 
awoke I put past my costume as she had done in the dream, 
and I put on the black frock and mantilla which you see. 
I feel more courage since I have renounced the idea of 
pleasing by means which I do not know how to use. Now, 
hear my voice; everything depends on that, you know.^^ 
She sounded a note. 

Just Heavens ! we are lost,^^ cried Anzoleto ; ‘^your 
voice is husky and your eyes are red. You have been 
weeping yesterday evening, Consuelo; here’s a fine busi- 
ness! 1 tell you we are lost; you are foolish to dress your- 
self in mourning on a holyday — it brings bad luck and 
makes you ugly. Now quick! quick! put on your beauti- 
ful dress, while I go and buy you some rouge. You are as 
pale as a specter.” 

This gave rise to a lively discussion between them. 
Anzoleto was a little rude. The poor girl’s mind was 
again agitated, and her tears flowed afresh. Anzoleto was 
irritated still more, and in the midst of their debate the 
hour struck — the fatal hour (a quarter before two), just 
time enough to run to the church’ and reach it out of 
breath. Anzoleto cursed and swore. Consuelo, pale and 
trembling as the star of the morning which mirrors itself 
in the bosom of the lagunes, looked for the last time into 
her little broken mirror; then turning, she threw herself 
impetuously into Anzoleto’s arms. ‘‘Oh, my friend,” 
cried she, “ do not scold me — do not curse me. On the 
contrary press me to your heart, and drive from my cheek 
this deathlike paleness. May your kiss be as the fire from 
the altar upon the lips of Isaiah, and may God not punish 
us for having doubted his assistance.” 

Then she hastily threw her mantilla over her head, took 
the music in her hand, and dragging her dispirited lover 
after her, ran toward the church of the Mendicanti, where 
the crowd had already assembled to hear the magnificent 
music of Porpora. Anzoleto, more dead than alive, pro- 
ceeded to join the count, who had appointed to meet him 
in his gallery; and Consuelo mounted to the organ loft, 
where the choir was already arranged, and the professor 
seated before his desk. Consuelo did not know that the 
gallery of the count was so situated as to command a full 
view of the organ loft, that he already had his eyes fixed 
upon her, and did not lose one of her movements," 


CONSUELO. 


51 


But he could not as yet distinguish -her features, for she 
knelt on arriving, hid her face in her hands, and began to 
pray with fervent devotion. ^^My God,""’ said she, in the 
depths of her heart, ‘Hhou knowest that I do not ask Thee 
to raise me above my rivals in order to abase them. Thou 
knowest that I do not wish to give myself to the world and 
to profane arts, in order to abandon Thy love, and to lose 
myself in the paths of vice. Thou knowest that pride 
does not swell my soul, and that it is in order to live with 
him whom my mother permitted me to love, never to sep- 
arate myself from him, to ensure his enjoyment and happi- 
ness, that I ask Thee to sustain me, and to ennoble my 
voice and my thoughts when I shall sing Thy praise!” 

When the first sound of the orchestra called Consuelo to 
her place, she rose slowly, her mantilla fell from her 
shoulders, and her*face was at length visible to the impa- 
tient and restless spectators in the neighbouring tribune. 
But what marvelous change is here in this young girl, just 
now so pale, so cast down, so overwhelmed by fatigue and 
fear! The ether of heaven seemed to bedew her lofty 
forehead, while a gentle languor was diffused over the noble 
and graceful outlines of her figure. Her tranquil counte- 
nance expressed none of those petty passions which seek, 
and ‘as it were exact, applause. There was something 
about her, solemn, mysterious, and elevated — at once lovely 
and affecting. 

"^Courage, my daughter!” said the professor in a low 
voice. ‘‘You are about to sing the music of a great mas- 
ter, and he is here to listen to you.” 

“ Who? — Marcello?” said Consuelo, seeing the professor 
lay the Hymns of Marcello open on the desk. 

“ Yes — Marcello,” replied he. “ Sing as usual — nothing 
more and nothing less — and all will be well.” 

Marcello, then in the last year of his life, had in fact 
come once again to revisit Venice, his birth-place, where he 
had gained renown as composer, as writer, and as mag- 
istrate. He had been full of courtesy toward Porpora, who 
had requested him to be present in his school, intending to 
surprise him with the performance of Consuelo, who knew 
his magnificent “ / deli immensi narrano ” by heart* 
Nothing could be better adapted to the religions glow that 
now animated the heart of this noble girl. So soon as the 
first words of this lofty and brilliant production shone be- 


52 


CONSUELO. 


fore her eyes, she felt as if wafted into another sphere. 
Forgetting Count Zustiniani — forgetting, the spiteful 
glances of her rivals — forgetting even Anzoleto — she 
thought only of God and of Marcello, who seemed to in- 
terpret those wondrous regions whose glory she was about 
to celebrate. What subject so beautiful! what conception 
so elevated! 

I deli immensi narrano 
Del grandi Iddio la gloria; 

II firmamento luddo 
Air universe annunzia 
Quanto sieno mirabili 
Della sua destra le opere. 

A divine glow overspread her features, and the sacred 
fire of genius darted from her large black eyes, as the 
vaulted roof rang with that unequaled voice, and with those 
lofty accents which could only proceed from an elevated 
intellect, joined to a good heart. After he had listened 
for a few instants, a torrent of delicious tears streamed 
from Marcello’s* eyes. The count, unable to restrain his 
emotion, exclaimed: By the Holy Eood this woman is 
beautiful! She is Santa Cecilia, Santa Teresa, Santa Con- 
suelo! She is poetry, she is music, she is faith personi- 
fied!” As for Anzoleto, who had risen, and whose 
trembling knees barely sufficed to sustain him with the aid 
of his hands, which clung convulsively to the grating of 
the tribune, he fell back upon his seat ready to swoon, in- 
toxicated with pride and joy. 

It required all the respect due to the locality, to prevent 
the numerous dilettanti in the crowd from bursting into 
applause as if they had been in the theater. The count 
would not wait till the close of the service to express his 
enthusiasm to Porpora and Consuelo. She was obliged to 
repair to the tribune of the count to receive the thanks 
and gratitude of Marcello. She found him so much 
agitated as to be hardly able to speak. 

^‘My daughter,” said he, with a broken voice, receive 
the blessing of a dying man. You have caused me to for- 
get for an instant the mortal sufferings of many years. A 
miracle seems exerted in my behalf, and the unrelenting, 
frightful malady appears to have fled forever at the sound 
of your voice. If the angels above sing like you, I shall 
long to quit the world in order to enjoy that happiness 


CONSVBLO. 


53 


which you have niade known to me. Blessings then be on 
yon, oh my child, and may your earthly happiness corre- 
spond with your deserts! I have heard Faustina, Eomanina, 
Cuzzoni, and the rest; but they are not to be named along 
with you. It is reserved for you to let the world hear what 
it has never yet heard, and to make it feel what no man 
has ever yet felt.^^ 

Consuelo, overwhelmed by this magnificent eulogiurn, 
bowed her head, and almost bending to the ground, kissed, 
without being able to utter a word, the livid fingers of the 
dying man ; then rising she cast a look upon Anzoleto 
which seemed to say, Ungrateful one, you knew not 
what I wasT^ 


CHAPTER XL 

During the remainder of the service, Consuelo dis- 
played energy and resources which completely removed any 
hesitation Count Zustiniani might have felt respecting her. 
She led, she animated, she sustained the choir, displaying 
at each instant prodigious powers, and the varied qualities 
of her voice rather than the strength of her lungs. For 
those who know how to sing do not become tired, and 
Consuelo sang with as little effort and labor as others might 
have in merely breathing. She was heard above all the 
rest, not because she screamed like those performers with- 
out soul and without breath, .but because of the unimagin- 
able sweetness and purity of her tones. Beside, she felt 
that she was understood in every minute particular. She 
alone, amid the vulgar crowd, the shrill voices and im- 
perfect trills of those around her, was a musician and a 
master. She filled therefore instinctively and without os- 
tentation, her powerful part, and as long as the service 
lasted she took the prominent place which she felt was 
necessary. After all was over, the choristers imputed it to 
her as a grievance and a crime; and those very persons who, 
failing and sinking, had as it were implored her assistance 
with their looks, claimed for themselves all the eulogiums 
which were given to the school of Porpora at large. At 
these eulogiums the master smiled and said nothing; but 
he looked at Consuelo, and Anzoleto understood very well 
what his look meant. 


54 


C0N8UEL0, 


After the business of the day was over, the choristers par- 
took of a select collation which the count had caused to be 
served up in one of the parlors of the convent. Two im- 
mense tables in the form of a half moon were separated by 
the grating, in the center of which, over an immense pate, 
there was an opening to pass the dishes, which the count 
himself gracefully handed round to the princiiDal nuns and 
pupils. The latter, dressed as Beguines, came by dozens 
alternately to occupy the vacant places in the interior of 
the cloisters. The superior, seated next the grating, was 
thus at the right hand of the count as regarded the out- 
ward hall; the seat on his left was vacant. Marcello, Por- 
pora, the curate of the parish, and the officiating priests, 
some dilletanti patricians, and the lay administrators of 
the school, together with the handsome Anzoleto with his 
black coat and sword, had a place at the secular table. 
The young singers, though usually animated enough on 
such occasions, what with the pleasure of feasting, of con- 
versing with gentlemen, the desire of pleasing, or at least 
of being observed — were on tliat day thoughtful and con- 
strained. The project of the count had somehow tran- 
spired — for what secret can be kept in a convent without 
oozing out? — and each of these young girls secretly flat- 
tered herself that she should be presented by Porpora in 
order to succeed Gorilla. The professor was even malicious 
enough to encourage their illusions, whether to induce 
them to perform better before IVIarcello, or to revenge him- 
self for the previous annoyance during their course of in- 
struction. Certain it is that Clorinda, who was one of the 
out-pupils of the conservatory, was there in full attire, 
waiting to take her place beside the count ; but when she 
saw the despised Consuelo, with her black dress and tran- 
quil mien, the ugly creature whom she affected to despise, 
henceforth esteemed a musician and the only beauty of 
the school, she became absolutely frightful with anger — 
uglier than Consuelo had ever been — ugly as Venus herself 
would beconie were she actuated by a base and degrading 
motive. Anzoleto, exulting in his victory, looked atten- 
tively at her, seated himself beside her, and loaded her 
with absurd compliments which she had not sense to un- 
derstand, but which, nevertheless, consoled her. She 
imagined she would revenge herself on her rival by attract- 
ing her betrothed, and spared no pains to intoxicate him 


CONSUELO, 


55 


with her charms. She was no match, however, for her 
companion, and Anzoleto was acute enough to load her 
with ridicule. 

In the meantime Count Zustiniani, upon conversing 
with Consuelo, was amazed to find her endowed with as much 
tact, good sense, and conversational powers, as he had 
found in her talent and ability at church. Absolutely de- 
void of coquetry, there was a cheerful frankness and con- 
fiding good nature in her manner which inspired a sym- 
pathy equally rapid and irresistible. When the repast was 
at an end, he invited her to take the air in his gondola 
with his friends. Marcello was excused on account of his 
failing health ; but Porpora, Barberigo, and other patri- 
cians were present, and Anzoleto was also of the party. 
Consuelo, who felt not quite at home among so many men, 
entreated the count to invite Clorinda ; and Zustiniani, 
who did not suspect the badinage of Anzoleto with this 
poor girl, was not sorry to see him attracted by her. The 
noble count, thanks to the sprightliness of his character, 
his fine figure, his wealth, his theater, and also the easy 
manners of the country and of the time, had a strong spice 
of conceit in his character. Fired by the wine of Greece 
and by his musical enthusiasm, and impatient to revenge 
himself on the perfidious Corilla, he thought there was 
nothing more natural than to pay his court to Consuelo. 
Seating himself therefore beside her in the gondola, and 
so arranging that the young people should occupy the 
other extremity, he began to direct glances of a very sig- 
nificant character on his new fiame. The simple and up- 
right Consuelo took no notice. Her candor and good 
principle revolted at the idea that the protector of her 
friend could harbor ill designs; indeed, her habitual mod- 
esty, in no way affected by the splendid triumph of the 
day, would have made it impossible for her to believe it. 
She persisted therefore in respecting the illustrious signor, 
who adopted her along with Anzoleto, and co-ntinued to 
amuse herself with the party of pleasure, in which she 
could see no harm. 

So much calmness and good faith surprised the count, 
who remained uncertain whether it was the joyous submis- 
sion of an unresisting heart or the unsuspiciousness of 
perfect innocence. At eighteen years of age, however, now 
as well as a hundred years ago, especially with a friend 


56 


C0N8UEL0. 


such as Anzoleto, a girl could not be perfectly ignorant. 
Every probability was in favor of the count ; nevertheless, 
each time that he seized the hand of his protegee, or at- 
tempted to steal his arm round her waist, he experienced 
an indefinable fear, and a feeling of uncertainty — almost 
of respect — which restrained him, he could not tell how. 

Barberigo found Oonsuelo sufficiently attractive, and he 
would in his turn gladly have maintained his pretensions, 
had he not been restrained by motives of delicacy toward 
the count. Honor to all,^^ said he to himself, as he saw 
the eyes of Zustiniani swimming in an atmosphere of 
voluptuous delight; my turn will come next.^^ Mean- 
while the young Barberigo, not much accustomed to look 
at the stars when on excursions with ladies, inquired by 
what right Anzoleto should appropriate the fair Clorinda; 
and approaching he endeavored to make him understand 
that his place was rather to take the oar than to flirt with 
ladies. Anzoleto, notwithstanding his acuteness, was not 
well bred enough to understand at first what he meant ; 
besides, his pride was fully on a par with the insolence of 
the patricians. He detested them cordially, and his ap- 
parent deference toward them merely served to disguise his 
inward contempt. Barberigo, seeing that he took a 
pleasure in opposing them, bethought himself of a cruel 
revenge. By Jove said he to Clorinda, ‘‘your friend 
Oonsuelo is getting on at a furious rate; I wonder where 
she will stop. Hot contented with setting the town crazy 
with her voice, she is turning the head of the poor count. 
He will fall madly in love, and Gorilla’s affair will soon be 
settled.'’^ 

“ Oh, there is nothing to fear,” exclaimed Clorinda, 
mockingly ; “ Oonsuelo’s affections are the property of An- 
zoleto here, to whom in fact she is engaged. They have 
been waiting for each other, I doiTt know how many 
years.” 

“ I do not know how many years may be swept away in 
the twinkling of an eye,” said Barberigo, “ especially when 
the eyes of Zustiniani take it upon them to cast the mortal 
dart. Do you not think so, beautiful Clorinda?” 

Anzoleto could bear it no longer. A thousand serpents 
already found admission into his bosom. Hitherto such a 
suspicion had never entered into his mind. He was trans- 
ported with Joy at witnessing his friend’s triumph, and it 


G0N8UEL0. 


57 


was as much to give expression to his transports as to 
amuse his vanity, that he occupied himself in rallying the 
unfortunate victim of the day. After some cross-purposes 
with Barberigo, he feigned a sudden interest in a musical 
discussion which Porpora was keeping up with some of the 
company in the center of the bark, and thus leaving a sit- 
uation which he had now no longer any wish to retain, he 
glided along unobserved almost to the prow. He saw at the 
first glance that Zustiniani did not relish his attempt to inter- 
rupt his t4te-a-t4te with his betrothed, for he replied coolly, 
and even with displeasure. At last, after several idle ques- 
tions badly received, he was advised to go and listen to the 
instructions which the great Porpora was giving on counter- 
point. 

^^The great Porpora is not my master, said Anzoleto, 
concealing the rage which devoured him. ^‘HeisOon- 
suelo^s master; and if it would only please your Highness,^^ 
said he in a low tone, bending toward the count in an in- 
sinuating manner, that my poor Oonsuelo should receive 
no other lessons than those of her old teacher. 

Dear and well beloved Zoto,^^ replied the count caress- 
ingly, but at the same time with profound malice, I have 
a word for your ear;^' and leaning toward him he added: 

your betrothed has doubtless received lessons from you 
that must render her invulnerable; but if I had any pre- 
tension to offer her others, I should at least have the right 
to do so during one evening.^' 

Anzoleto felt a chill run through his frame from head to 
foot. 

Will your gracious Highness deign to explain your- 
self?’^ said he, in a choking voice. 

‘^It is soon done, my good friend,” replied the count in 
a clear tone — gondola for gondola’^ 

Anzoleto was terrified when he found that the count had 
discovered his t^te-a-tete with Gorilla. The foolish and 
audacious girl had boasted to Zustiniani in a violent quar- 
rel that they had been together. The guilty youth vainly 
pretended astonishment. You had better go and listen 
to Porpora about the principle of the Neapolitan schools,” 
said the count, you will come back and tell me about it, 
for it is a subject that interests n»e much.” 

I perceive, your Excellency,” replied Anzoleto, fran- 
tic with rage, and ready to dash himself into the sea. 


58 


CONSUELO. 


What?^^ said the innocent Consnelo, astonished at his 
hesitation, will you not go? Permit me, Signor Count; 
you shall see that I am willing to serve you/^ And before 
the count could interpose, she bounded lightly over the 
seat which separated her from her old master, and sat down 
close beside him. 

The count, perceiving that matters were not far enough 
advanced, found it necessary to dissemble. Anzoleto,’^ 
said he, smiling, and pulling the ear of his protege a little 
too hard, my revenge is at an end. It has not proceeded 
nearly so far as your deserts; neither do I make the slight- 
est comparison between the pleasure of conversing in the 
presence of a dozen persons with your betrothed, and the 
tete-a-t4te which you have enjoyed in a well-closed gondola 
with mine.^^ 

‘‘Signor CountT^ exclaimed Anzoleto, violently agitated 
“ I protest on my honor ” 

“ Where is your honor?^^ resumed the count ; “is it in 
your left ear?^^ and he menaced the unfortunate organ with 
an infliction similar to that with which he had just visited 
the right. 

“ Do you suppose your protege has so little sense,’’ said 
Anzoleto, recovering his presence of mind, “as to be 
guilty of such folly?” 

“Guilty or not,” rejoined the count, drily, “it is all 
the same to me.” And he seated himself beside Consuelo. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The musical dissertation was continued until they 
reached the palace of Zustiniani, where they arrived toward 
midnight, to partake of coffee and sherbet. From the 
technicalities of art they had passed on to style, musical 
ideas, ancient and modern forms; from that to artists and 
their different modes of feeling and expressing themselves. 
Porpora spoke with admiration of his master Scarlatti, the 
first who had imparted a pathetic character to religions 
compositions; but there he stopped, and would not admit 
that sacred music should trespass upon profane, in tolerat- 
ing ornaments, trills and roulades. 

“ Does your Highness,” said Anzoleto, “ find fault with 


GONSUELO. 


50 


these ana other difficult additions, which nave nevertlieless 
constituted the glory and success of your ’illustrious pupil 
Farinellir 

only disapprove of them in the church,” replied the 
maestro; “ I would have them in their proper place, which 
is the theater. I wish them of a pure, sober, genuine taste, 
and appropriate in their modulations, not only to the 
subject of which they treat, but to the person and situation 
that are represented, and the passion which is expressed. 
The nymphs and shepherds may warble like any birds ; 
their cadences may be like the flowing fountain ; 
but Medea or Dido can only sob and roar like a 
wounded lioness. The coquette, indeed, may load her 
silly cavatina with capricious and elaborate ornament. 
Gorilla excels in this description of music; but once she 
attempts to express the deeper emotions, the passions of 
the human heart, she becomes inferior even to herself. In 
vain she struggles, in vain she swells her voice and bosom 
— a note misplaced, an absurd roulade, parodies in an in- 
stant the sublimity which she had hoped to reach. You 
have all heard Faustina Bordoni, now Madame Hasse : in 
situations appropriate to her brilliant qualities, she had no 
equal ; but when Cuzzoni came, with her pure, deep feel- 
ing, to sing of pain, of prayer, or tenderness, the tears 
which she drew forth banished in an instant from your 
heart the recollection of Faustina. The solution of this 
is to be found in the fact that there is a showy and super- 
ficial cleverness, very different from lofty and creative 
genius. There is also that which amuses, which moves us, 
which astonishes, and which completely carries ns away. 
I know very well that sudden and startling effects are now 
in fashion ; but if I taught them to my pupils as useful 
exercises, I almost repent of it when I see the majority so 
abuse them — so sacrifice what is necessary to what is 
superflous — the lasting emotion of the audience to cries of 
surprise and the darts of a feverish and transitory pleasure.” 

No one attempted to combat conclusions so eternally 
true with regard to all the arts, and which will be always 
applied to their varied manifestations by lofty minds. 
Nevertheless, the count, who was curious to know how 
Consuelo would sing ordinary music, pretended to combat 
a little the severe notions of Porpora ; but seeing that the 
modest girl, instead of refuting his heresies, ever turned 


60 


GONSUELO. 


her eyes to her old master as if to solicit his victorious re- 
plies, he determined to attack herself, and asked her ^^if 
she sang upon the stage with as much ability and purity as 
at church 

‘‘I do not think,” she replied, with unfeigned humility, 

that I should there experience the same inspirations or 
acquit myself nearly so Well.” 

This modest and sensible reply satisfies me,” said the 
count ; ^Wnd 1 feel assured that if you will condescend to 
study those brilliant difficulties of which we every day 
become more greedy, you will sufficiently inspire an ar- 
dent, curious, and somewhat spoiled public.” 

Study !” replied Porpora, with a meaning smile. 

Study !” cried Anzoleto, with superb disdain. 

“ Yes, without doubt,” replied Consuelo, with her accus- 
tomed sweetness. Though I have sometimes labored in 
this direction, I do not think I should be able to rival the 
illustrious performers who have appeared in our time.” 

You do not speak sincerely,” exclaimed Anzoleto, 
with animation. Eccelenza, she does not speak the 
truth. Ask her to try the most elaborate and difficult airs 
in the repertory of the theater, and you will see what she 
can do.” 

If I did not think she were tired,” said the count, 
whose eyes sparkled with impatience and curiosity. 
Consuelo turned hers artlessly to Porpora, as if to await 
his command. 

Why, as to that,” said he, '^such a trifie could not 
tire her ; and as we are here a select few, we can listen to 
her talent in every description of music. Come, Signor 
Count, choose an air, and accompany it yourself on the 
harpsichord.” 

The emotion which the sound of her voice would 
occasion ' me,” replied Zustiniani, would cause me to 
play falsely. Why not accompany her yourself, maestro?” 

‘T should wish iosee her sing,” continued Porpora; ^‘for 
between us be it said I have never seen her sing. I wish to 
know how she demeans herself, and what she does with her 
mouth and with her eyes. Come, my child, arise ; it is 
for me as well as for you that this trial is to be made.” 

‘'Let me accompany her, then,” said Anzoleto, seating 
himself at the instrument. 

“ You will frighten me, 0 my master !” said Consuelo 
to Porpora. 


CONSUELO. 


Cl 


Fools alone are timid,” replied the master. Who- 
ever is inspired with the love of art need fear nothing. If 
you tremble, it is because you are vain ; if you lose your 
resources, it is because they are false ; and if so, I shall be 
one of the first to say — ^ Consuelo is good for nought.^” 

And without troubling himself as to what effect these 
tender encouragements might produce, the professor 
donned his spectacles, placed himself before his pupil, and 
began to beat the time on the harpsichord to give the true 
movement of the ritornella. They chose a brilliant, 
strange and difficult air from an opera buffa of Galnppi, — 
The Diavolessay — in order to test her in a species of ai’t 
the most opposite to that in which she had succeeded in 
the morning. The young girl enjoyed a facility so pro- 
digious as to be able, almost without study and as if in 
sport, to overcome, with her pliable and powerful voice, 
all the difficulties of execution then known. Porpora had 
recommended and made her repeat such exercises from 
time to time, in order to see that she did not neglect them ; 
but he was quite unaware of the ability of his wonderful 
pupil in this respect. As if to revenge herself for the 
bluntness which he had displayed, Consuelo was roguish 
enough to add to The Diavolessa a multitude of turns 
and ornaments until then esteemed impracticable, but 
which she improvised with as much unconcern and calm- 
ness as if she had studied them with care. 

These embellishments were so skillful in their modul- 
ations, of a character so energetic, wild, and startling, and 
mingled in the midst of their most impetuous gaiety with 
accents so mournful, that a shudder of terror replaced the 
enthusiasm of the audience, and Porpora, rising suddenly, 
cried out with a loud voice — You are the devil in 
person !” 

Consuelo finished her air with a crescendo di forza which 
excited shouts of admiration, while she reseated herself 
upon her chair with a burst of laughter. 

‘‘Wicked girl !” said Porpora to her, “you have played 
me a trick which deserves hanging. You have mocked 
me. You have hidden from me half your studies and 
your powers. It is long since I could teach you any thing, 
and you have received my lessons from hypocrisy ; per- 
haps to steal from me the secrets of composition and 
of teaching, in order to surpass me in every tiling, and 
make me pass afterwards for an old pedant.” 


62 


CONSUELO. 


Dear master/^ replied Consuelo, ‘‘ I have done no 
more than imitate your roguery toward the Emperor 
Charles. Have you not often told me that adventure ? — 
how his imperial majesty did not like trills, and had for- 
bidden you to introduce a solitary one into your oratorio ; 
and how, having scrupulously respected his coinmands even 
to the end of the work, you gave him a tasteful diverti- 
mento in the final fugue, commencing it by four ascending 
trills, repeated adfijiitum afterward in the stretto by all 
the parts? You have this evening been pleading against 
the abuse of embellishments, and yet you ordered me to 
use them. I have made use of too many, in order to 
prove to you that I likewise can be extravagant, a fault of 
which I am quite willing to plead guilty.’^ 

I tell you that you are Beelzebub in person,” returned 
Porpora. ^^Now sing us something human, and sing as 
you understand it, for I see plainly that I can no longer 
be your master.” 

You will always be my respected and well-beloved 
master,” cried she, throwing herself upon his neck and 
pressing him to her heart; ‘^it is to you that I owe my 
bread and my instruction for ten years. Oh, my master! 
they say that you have formed only ingrates ; may God 
deprive me on the instant of my love and my voice, if I 
carry in my heart the poison of pride and ingratitude!’ 

Porpora turned pale, stammered some words, and im- 
printed a paternal kiss upon the brow of his pupil ; but he 
left there a tear, and Consuelo, who did not dare to wipe 
it off, felt that cold and bitter tear of neglected old age 
and unhappy genius slowly dry upon her forehead. She 
felt deeply affected with a sort of religious terror, which 
threw a shade over all her gaiety, and extinguished all her 
fancy for the rest of the evening. An hour afterward, 
when they had lavished upon her all the usual phrases of 
admiration, surprise, and rapture, without being able to 
draw her from her melancholy, they asked for a specimen 
of her dramatic talent. She sang a grand air of Jomelli, 
from the opera of Didone Abandonata, Never had she 
felt in so great a degree the necessity of breathing forth 
her sadness ; she was sublime in pathos, in simplicity, in 
grandeur, and her features and expression were even more 
beautiful tlian they had been at the church. Her com- 
plexion was flushed with a feverish glow ; her eyes shot 


G0N8UEL0. 


63 


forth lurid lightnings ; she was no longer a saint, she was 
even more — she was a woman consumed by love. The 
count, his friend Barberigo, Anzoleto, and I believe even 
the old Porpora himself, were almost out of their senses. 
Clorinda was suffocated with despair. Oonsuelo, to whom 
the count announced that on the morrow her engagement 
should be drawn up and signed, begged of him to promise 
her a second favor, and to engage his word to her after 
the manner of the ancient chevaliers, without knowing to 
what it referred. He did so, and the company separated, 
overpowered by that delicious emotion which is caused by 
great events and swayed at pleasure by great geniuses. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

While Consuelo was achieving all these triumphs, An- 
zoleto had lived so completely in her as to forget himself ; 
nevertheless, when the count in dismissing him mentioned 
the engagement of his betrothed, without saying a word of 
his own, he called to mind the coolness with which he had 
been treated during the evening, and the dread of being 
ruined without remedy poisoned all his joy. The idea 
darted across his mind to leave Consuelo on the steps, 
leaning on Porpora’s arm, and to return to cast himself at 
the feet of his benefactor ; but as at this moment he hated 
him, we must say in his praise that he withstood the 
temptation to humiliate, himself. When he had taken 
leave of Porpora, and prepared to accompany Consuelo 
along the canal, the gondoliers of the count informed him 
that by the commands of their master the gondola waited 
to conduct the signora home. A cold perspiration burst 
upon his forehead. The signora,^^ said he, rudely, is 
accustomed to use her own limbs ; she is much obliged to 
the count for his attentions. 

By what right do you refuse for her?^^ said the count, 
who was close behind him. Anzoleto turned and saw him, 
not with uncovered head as a man who dismissed his 
guests, but with his cloak thrown overliis shoulders, his 
hat in one hand, and his sword in the other, as one who 
seeks adventures. Anzoleto was so enraged, that a thought 
of stabbing him with the long narrow knife which a Vene- 
tian always carried about concealed on his person, flashed 


64 


C0N8UEL0. 


across his mind. I hope, madam,” said the count, in a 
firm voice, ‘‘ that yon will not offer me the aft'ront of re- 
fusing my gondola to take you home, and cause me the 
vexation of not permitting me to assist you to enter it.” 

Consuelo, always confiding, and suspecting nothing of 
what passed around her., accepted the offer, thanked him, 
and placing her pretty rounded elbow in the hand of the 
count, she sprang without ceremony into the gondola. 
Then a dumb but energetic dialogue took place between 
the count and Anzoleto. The count, with one foot on the 
bank and one on the bark, measured Anzoleto with his 
eye, who, standing on the last step of the stairs leading 
from the water’s edge to the palace, measured him with 
a fierce air in return, his hand in his breast and grasp- 
ing the handle of his knife. A single step, and the 
count was lost. What was most characteristic of 
the Venetian disposition in this rapid and silent scene, 
was, that the two rivals watched each other without either 
hastening the catastrophe. The count was determined to 
torture his rival by apparent irresolution, and he did so at 
leisure, although he saw and comprehended the gesture of 
Anzoleto. On his side Anzoleto had strength to wait, 
without betraying himself, until it would please the count to 
finish his malicious pleasantry or give up his life. This 
pantomine lasted two minutes, which seemed to Anzoleto 
an age, and which the count supported with stoical dis- 
dain. The count then made a profound bow to Consuelo, 
and turning toward his protege,. I permit you also,” said 
he, to enter my gondola; in future you will know how a 
gallant man conducts himself and he stepped back to 
allow Anzoleto to pass into the boat. Then he gave orders 
to the gondolier to row to the Corte Minelli, while he re- 
mained standing on the bank, motionless as a statue. It 
almost seemed as if he awaited some new attempt at mur- 
der on the part of his humiliated rival. 

How does the count know your abode?” was the first 
word which Anzoleto addressed to his betrothed, when they 
were out of sight of the palace of Zustiniani. 

‘^Because I told him,” replied Consuelo. 

And why did you tell him?” 

Because he asked me.” 

You do not guess then why he wished to know?” 

Probably to convey me home,” 


OONSUELO. 65 

Do you think so ? Do you think he will not come to 
see you?^^ 

Come to see me ? what madness ! And in such a 
wretched abode! That would he an excess of politeness 
which I should never wish.” 

You do well not to wish it, Consuelo ; for excess of 
shame might ensue from this excess of honor.” 

Shame! and why shame to me ? In good faith I do 
not understand you to-night, dear Anzoleto; and I think 
it rather odd that you should speak of things Ido not com- 
prehend, instead of expressing your joy at our incredible 
and unexpected success.” 

Unexpected indeed,” returned Anzoleto, bitterly. 

It seemed to me that at vespers, and while they ap- 
plauded me this evening, you were even more intoxicated 
than I was. You looked at me with such passionate eyes 
that my happiness was doubled in seeing it reflected from 
you. But now you are gloomy and out of sorts, just as 
when we wanted bread and our prospects were uncertain.” 

And now you wish that I should rejoice in the future? 
Possibly it is no longer uncertain, but assuredly it presents 
nothing cheering for me.” 

What more would we have? It is hardly a week since 
you appeared before the count and were received with en- 
thusiasm.” 

My success was infinitely eclipsed by yours — you know 
•it well.” 

I hope not; besides, if it were so, there can be no jeal- 
ousy between us.” 

These ingenuous words, uttered with the utmost truth 
and tenderness, calmed the heart of Anzoleto. “ Ah, you 
are right,” said he, clasping his betrothed in his arms ; 

we cannot be jealous of each other, we cannot deceive 
each other;” but as he uttered these words he recalled with 
remorse his adventure with Gorilla, and it occurred to him 
that the count, in order to punish him, might reveal his 
conduct to Consuelo whenever he had reason to suppose 
that she in the least encouraged him. He fell into a 
gloomy reverie, and Consuelo also became pensive. 

Why,” said she, after a moments silence, did you 
say that we could not deceive each%ther? It is a great 
truth surely, but why did you just then think of it?” 

Hush! let us not say another word in this gondola,” 


66 


C0N8UEL0. 


said Anzoleto; they will bear what we say and tell it to 
the count. This velvet covering is very thin, and these 
palace gondolas have recesses four times as deep and as 
large as those for hire. Permit me to accompany you 
home,” said he, when they had been put ashore at the en- 
trance of the Corte Minelli. 

‘"You know that it is contrary to our agreement and 
custom,” replied she. 

“Oh, do not refuse me,” said Anzoleto, “else you will 
plunge me into fury and despair.” 

Frightened by his tone and his words, Consuelo dared 
110 longer refuse; and when she had lighted her lamp and 
drawn the curtains, seeing him gloomy and lost in thought, 
she threw her arms around him. “ How unhappy and dis- 
quieted you seem this evening!” said she; “ what is the 
matter wdth you?” 

“Do you not know, Consuelo? do you not guess?” 

“ No, on my soul!” 

“ Swear that you do not guess it. Swear it by the soul 
of your mother — by your hopes of heaven!” 

“ Oh, I swear it!” 

“ And by our love?” 

“ By our love.” 

“I believe you, Consuelo, for it would be the first time 
you ever uttered an untruth!” 

“And now will you explain yourself?” 

“ I shall explain nothing. Perhaps I may have to ex-* 
plain myself soon; and when that moment comes, and 
when you have too well comprehended me, woe to us both, 
the day on which you know what I now suffer!” 

“ 0 Heaven ! what new misfortune threatens us ? 
What curse assails us, as we re-enter this poor chamber, 
where hitherto we had no secrets from each other ? 
Something too surely told me when I left it this 
morning that I should return with death in my soul. 
What have I done that I should not enjoy a day that 
promised so well? Have I not prayed God sincerely and 
ardently? Have I not thrust aside each proud thought? 
Have I not suffered from Clorinda’s humiliation? Have I 
not obtained from the count a promise that he should 
engage her as second(Alo7ina with us? What have I done, 
must I again ask, to incur the sufferings of which you 
speak — which I already feel since you feel them?” 


COmUELO. 


67 


“And did you indeed procure an engagement for 
Clorinda?’’ 

“ I am resolved upon it, and the count is a man of his 
word. This poor girl has always dreamed of the theater, 
and has no other means of subsistence.” 

“And do you think that the count will part with 
Rosalba, who knows something, for Clorinda who knows 
nothing?” 

“ Rosalba will follow her sister Gorilla’s fortunes; and 
as to Clorinda we shall give her lessons, and teach her to 
turn lier voice, which is not amiss, to the best account. 
The public, besides, will be indulgent to a pretty girl. 
Were she only to obtain a third place, it would be always 
something — a beginning— a source of subsistence.” 

“ You are a saint, Consuelo; you do not see that this 
dolt, in accepting your intervention, although she should 
be happy in obtaining a third, or even a fourth place, will 
never pardon you for being first.” 

“ What signifies her ingratitude? I know already what 
ingratitude and the ungrateful are.” 

“You!” said Anzoleto, bursting into a laugh, as he 
embraced her with all his old brotherly warmth. 

“ Oh,” replied she, enchanted at having diverted him 
from his cares, “ I should always have before my eyes the 
image of my noble master Porpora. Many bitter words 
he uttered which he thought me incapable of comprehend- 
ing; but they sank deep into my heart and shall never 
leave it. He is a man who has suffered greatly, and is 
devoured by sorrow. From his grief and his deep indigna- 
tion, as well as what has escaped from him before me, I have 
learned that artists, my dear Anzoleto, are more wicked 
and dangerous than I could suppose — that the public is 
fickle, forgetful, cruel and unjust — that a great career is 
but a heavy cross, and that glory is a crown of thorns. 
Yes, I know all that, and I have thought and reflected 
upon it so often, that I think I should neither be aston- 
ished nor cast down were I to experience it myself. There- 
fore it is that you have not been able to intoxicate me by 
the triumph of to-day — therefore it is your dark thoughts 
have not discouraged me. 1 do not yet comprehend them 
very well; but I know that with- you, and provided you 
love me, I shall strive not to hate and despise mankind 
like my poor unhappy master, that noble yet simple old 
man.” 


68 


GONSVELO. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

lif LiSTE^riiJfG to his betrothed, Anzoleto recovered his 
serenity and his courage. She exercised great influence 
over him, and each day he discovered in her a flrmness and 
rectitude which supplied every thing that was wanting in 
himself. ‘^1 am only afraid,'’^ said he, ^^that the count 
will And you so superior that he shall judge me unworthy 
to appear with you before the public. He seemed this 
evening to have forgotten my very existence. He did not 
even perceive that in accompanying you I played well. In 
flue, when he told you of your engagement, he did not say 
a word of mine. How is it that you did not remark that?” 

It never entered my head that I should be engaged 
without yon. Does he not know that nothing would per- 
suade me to it? that we are betrothed? that we love each 
other? Have you not told him all this?” 

‘^I have told him so, but perhaps he thinks that I wish 
to boast, Consuelo.” 

In that case I shall boast myself of my love, Anzoleto; 
I shall tell him so that he cannot doubt it. But you are 
deceived, my friend; the count has not thought it neces- 
sary to speak of your engagement, because it was a settled 
thing since the day that you sung so well at his house.” 

But not yet ratified, and your engagement he has told 
you will be signed to-morrow.” 

‘‘Do you think I sliall sign the first? Oh, no! you have 
done well to put me on my guard. My name shall be 
written below yours.” 

“ You swear it?” 

“Oh, fie! Do you ask oaths for what you know so 
well? Truly you do not love me this evening, or you 
would not make me suffer by seeming to imagine that I 
did not love you.” 

At this thought Consuelo’s eyes filled with tears, and she 
sat down with a pouting air, which rendered her charm- 
ing. “I am a fool — an ass!” thought Anzoleto. “ How 
could I for one instant suppose that the count could tri- 
umph over a soul so pure— an affection so full and entire? 


GONSUELO. 


69 


He is not so inexperienced as not to perceive at a glance 
that Consiielo is not for him, and he would not have been 
so generous as to offer me a place in his gondola, had he 
not known that he would have played the part of a fool 
there. No, no; my lot is well assured — my position un- 
assailable. Let Consuelo please him or not, let him love, 
pay court to her — all that can only advance my fortunes, 
for she will soon learn to obtain what she wishes without 
incurring any danger. Consuelo will soon be better in- 
formed on this head than myself. She is prudent, she is 
energetic. The pretensions of the dear count will only 
turn to my profit and glory. 

And thus abjuring all his doubts, he cast himself at the 
feet of his betrothed, and gave vent to that passionate 
enthusiasm which he now experienced for the first time, 
and which his jealousy had served for some hours to' 
restrain. 

^^0 my beauty — my saint — my queen!” he cried, “ex- 
cuse me for having thought of myself in place of prostrat- 
ing myself befo”e you, as I should have done, on finding 
myself again with you in this chamber. I left it this morn- 
ing in anger with you. Yes, yes; I should have re-entered 
it upon my knees. How could you love and smile upon a 
brute like me? Strike me with your fan, Consuelo; place 
your pretty foot upon my neck. You are greater than I 
am by a hundredfold, and I am your slave for e.ver from 
this day.” 

“ I do not deserve these fine speeches,” said she, aban- 
doning herself to his transports; “ and I excuse your doubts 
because I comprehend them. It was the fear of being 
separated from me — of seeing our lot divide — which caused 
you all this unhappiness. You have failed in your faith in 
God, which is much worse than having accused me. But 
I shall pray for you, and say, ‘ Lord, forgive as I forgive 
him.'’ ” 

While thus innocently and simply expressing her love, 
and mingling with it that Spanish feeling of devotion so 
full of human affection and ingenuous candor, Consuelo 
was beautiful. Anzoleto gazed on her with rapture. 

“Oh, thou mistress of my soul!” he exclaimed, in a 
suffocated voice, “ be mine for evermore?” 

“When you will — to-morrow,” said Consuelo, with a 
heavenly smile» 


70 


CONSUELO. 


To-morrow? and why to-morrow?” 

You are right : it is now past midnight — we may be 
married to-day. When the sun rises let us seek the priest. 
We have no friends, and the ceremony need not be long. 
I have the muslin dress, which I have never yet worn. 
When I made it, dear Anzoleto, I said to myself, ^ Per- 
haps I may not have money to purchase my wedding 
dress, and if my friend should soon decide on marrying 
me, I would be obliged to wear one that I have had on al- 
ready.^ That, they say, is unlucky. So, when my mother 
appeared to me in a dream, to take it from me and lay it 
past, she knew what she did, pour soul! Therefore, by 
to-morrow^’s sun we shall swear at San Samuel fidelity for- 
ever. Did you wish to satisfy yourself first, wicked one, 
that I was not ugly?” 

0 Consuelo !” exclaimed Anzoleto, with anguish, 
^^you are a child. We could not marry thus, from one 
day to another, without its being known. The count and 
Porpora, whose protection is so necessary to us, would be 
justly irritated if we took this step without consulting or 
even informing them. Your old master does not like me 
too well, and the count, as I know, does not care much for 
married singers. We cannot go to San Samuel where every 
body knows us, and where the first old woman we met 
would make the palace acquainted with it in half an hour. 
We must keep our union secret.” 

No, Anzoleto,” said Consuelo, ^‘1 cannot consent to 
so rash — so ill-advised a step. I did not think of the ob- 
jections you have urged to a public marriage : but if they 
are well founded they apply with equal force to a private 
and clandestine one. It was not I who spoke first of it, 
Anzoleto, although I thought more than once that we 
were old enough to be married ; yet it seemed right to 
leave the decision to your prudence, and, if I must say it, 
to your wishes ; for I saw very well that you were in no 
hurry to make me your wife, nor had I any desire to re- 
mind you. You have often told me that before settling 
ourselves, we must think of our future family, and secure 
the needful resources. My mother said the same, and 
it is only right. Thus, all things considered, it would be 
too soon. First, our engagement must be signed — is not 
that so? Then we must be certain of the good-will of the 
public. Wc can speak of all this after we make our debut. 


CJONSVELO. 


n 


But why do yon grow pale, Anzoleto? Why do you wring 
your hands? 0 Heaven! are we not happy? Does it need 
an oath to insure our mutual love and reliance?” 

^^0 Consuelo! how calm you are! how pure! how cold!” 
exclaimed Anzoleto, with a sort of despair. 

^^Cold!” exclaimed the young Spaniard, stupified, and 
crimson with indignation. "^God, who reads my heart, 
knows whether I love you!” 

Very well,” retorted Anzoleto, angrily; throw your- 
self into his bosom, for mine is no safe refuge; and I shall 
fly lest I become impious.” 

Thus saying he rushed toward the door, believing that 
Consuelo, who had hitherto never been able to separate 
from him in any quarrel, however trifling, would hasten to 
prevent him, and in fact she made an impetuous move- 
ment as if to spring after him, then stopped, saw him go 
out, ran -likewise to the door, and put her hand on the 
latch in order to call him back. But summoning up all 
her resolution by a superhuman effort, she fastened the 
bolt behind him, and then, overcome by the violent strug- 
gle she had undergone, she swooned away upon the floor, 
where she remained motionless till daybreak. 


CHAPTER XV. 

MUST confess that I am completely enchanted with 
her,” said the Count Zustiniani to his friend Barberigo, as 
they conversed together on the balcony of his palace about 
two o^clock the same night. 

That is as much as to say that I must not be so,” re- 
plied the young and brilliant Barberigo, and I yield the 
point, for your rights take precedence of mine. Never- 
theless, if Corilla sliould mesh you afresh in her nets, you 
will have the goodness to let me know, that I may try and 
win her ear.” 

‘^Do not think of it, if you love me. Corilla has never 
been other tlian a plaything. I see by your countenance 
that you are but mocking me.” 

^^No, but I think that the amusement is somewliat 
serious which causes us to commit such follies and incur 
such expense.” 

‘‘I admit that I pursue my pleasures with so much ar- 


COMVMLO. 


^2 


door that I spare no expense to prolong them; but in 
this case it is more than fancy — it is passion which I feel. 

I never saw a creature so strangely beautiful as this Con- 
suelo: she is like a lamp that pales from time to time, but 
which at the moment when it is apparently about toexpire, 
sheds so bright a light that the very stars are eclipsed.-’^ 

Ah said Barberigo, sighing, that little black dress 
and white collar, that slender and half devout toilet, that 
pale, calm face, at first so little striking, that frank ad- 
dress and astonishing absence of coquetry — all become 
transformed, and, as it were, grow divine when inspired 
by her own lofty genius of song. Happy Zustiniani, who 
hold in your hands the destinies of this dawning star!'’ 

‘MVould I were secure of the happiness which you envy! 
But I am discouraged when I find none of those passions 
with which I am acquainted, and which are so easy to 
bring into play. Imagine, friend, that this girl* remains 
an enigma to me even after a whole day's study of her. 
It would almost seem from her tranquility and my awk- 
wardness, that I am already so far gone that I cannot see 
clearly." 

^ Truly you are captivated, since you already grow blind. 
I, whom hope does not confuse, can tell you in three words 
what you do not understand. Consuelo is the flower of 
innocence; she loves the little Anzoleto, and will love him 
yet for some time; but if you affront this attachment of 
childhood, you will only give it fresh strength. Appear 
to consider it of no importance, and the comparison which 
she will not fail to make between you and him will not fail 
to cool her preference." 

‘‘But the rascal is as handsome as Apollo ; he has a 
magnificent voice, and must succeed. Gorilla is already 
crazy about him; he is not one to be despised by a girl who 
has eyes." 

“ But he is poor, and you are rich — he is unknown, and 
you are powerful. The needful thing is to find out 
whether they are merely betrothed, or whether a more in- 
timate connection binds them. In the latter case Oon- 
suelo's eyes will be soon opened; in the former there will 
be a struggle and uncertainty which will but prolong her 
anguish." 

“ I must then desire what I horribly fear, and which 
maddens me with rage when I think of it. What do you 
suppose 


CONSUELO. 


73 


I think they are merely betrothed/^ 

But it is impossible. He is a bold and ardent youth, 
and then the manners of those people!” 

Consuelo is in all resx)ects a prodigy. You have had 
experiende to little purpose, dear Zustiniani, if you do not 
see in all the movements, all the looks, all the*^ words of 
this girl, that she is pure as the ocean gem.” 

You transport me with joy.” 

‘^Take care — it is folly, prejudice. If you love Con- 
suelo, she must be married to-morrow, so tliat in eight 
days her master may make her feel the weight of her 
chain, the torments of jealousy, the of a troublesome, 
unjust, and faithless guardian; for the handsome Anzoleto 
will be all that. I could not observe him yesterday be- 
tween Consuelo and Clorinda without being able to proph- 
esy her wrongs and misfortunes. Follow my advice, and 
you will thank me. The bond of marriage is easy to un- 
loose between people of that condition, and you know that 
with women love is an ardent fancy which "only increases 
with obstacles4” 

You drive me to despair,” replied the count; “ never- 
theless, I feel that you are right.” 

Unhappily for the designs of Count Zustiniani, this dia- 
logue had a listener upon whom they did not reckon, and 
who did not lose one syllable of it. After quitting Con- 
suelo, Anzoleto, stung with jealousy, had come to prowl 
about the palace of his protector, in order to assure him- 
self that the count did not intend one of those forcible ab- 
ductions then so much in vogue, and for which the patric- 
ians had almost entire impunity. He could hear no more; 
for the moon, which just then rose over the roofs of the 
palace, began to cast his shadow on the pavement, and 
the two young lords, perceiving that a man was under the 
balcony, withdrew and closed the window. 

Anzoleto disappeared in order to ponder at his leisure 
on what he had just heard; it was quite enough to direct 
liim what course to take in order to profit by the virtuous 
counsels of Barberigo to his friend. He slept scarcely two 
hours, and immediately when he awoke, ran to the Corte 
Minelli. The door was still locked, but through the 
chincks he could see Consuelo, dressed, stretched on the 
bed and sleeping, pale and motionless as death. The cool- 
ness of the morning had roused her from hex* swoon, and 


74 


CONSUELO. 


she threw herself on the bed without having strength to 
undress. He stood for some moments looking at her with 
remorseful disquietude, but at last becoming uneasy at this 
heavy sleep, so contrary to the active habits of his be- 
trothed, he gently enlarged an opening through which he 
could pass his knife and slide- back the bolt. This occa- 
sioned some noise; but Consuelo, overcome with fatigue, 
was not awakened. He then entered, knelt down beside 
her couch, and remained thus until she awoke. On find- 
ing him there Consuelo uttered a cry of joy, but instantly 
taking away her arms, which she had thrown round his 
neck, she drew back with an expression of alarm. 

You dread me now, and instead of embracing, fly me,” 
said he with grief. Oh, I am cruelly punished for my 
fault; pardon me, Consuelo, and see if you have ever cause 
to mistrust your friend again. I have watched you sleep- 
ing for a whole hour; pardon me, sister — it is the first and 
last time you shall have to blame or repulse your brother; 
I shall never more offend you by my hastiness and ill- 
temper. Leave me, banish me, if I fail in my oath. Are 
you satisfied, dear and good Consuelo?” 

Consuelo only replied by pressing the fair head of the 
Venetian to her heart and bathing it with tears. This out- 
burst comforted her; and soon after falling back upon her 
pillow, confess,” said she, ^'that I am overcome; I 
hardly slept all night, we parted so unhappily.” 

Sleep, Consuelo; sleep, dear angel,” replied Anzoleto. 

Do you remember the night that you allowed me to sleep 
on your couch; while you worked and prayed at your little 
table? It is now my turn to watch and protect you. 
Sleep, my child; I shall turn over your music and read it 
to myself whilst you repose an hour or two; no one will 
disturb us before the evening. Sleep, then, and prove by 
this confidence that you pardon and trust me.” 

Consuelo replied by a heavenly smile. He kissed her 
forehead and placed himself at the table, while she enjoyed 
a refreshing sleep, mingled with sweet dreams. 

Anzoleto had lived calmly and innocently too long with 
this young girl, to render it difficult after one day^s 
agitation to regain his usual demeanour. This brotherly 
feeling was, as it were, the ordinary condition of his souf; 
besides, what he had heard the preceding night under the 
balcony of Zustiniani, was well calculated to strengthen 


CONSUELO, 


his faltering purpose. Thanks, my brave gentleman,’^ 
said he to himself; you have given me a lesson which the 
rascal will turn to account just as much as one of your 
own class. I shall abstain from jealousy, infidelity, or 
any weakness which may give you an advantage over me. 
Illustrious and profound Barberigo! your prophecies bring 
counsel; it is good to be of your school. 

Thus reflecting, Anzoleto, overcome by a sleepless night, 
dozed in his turn, his head supported on his hand and his 
elbows on the table; but his sleep was not sound, and the 
daylight had begun to decline as he rose to see if Consuelo 
still slumbered. The rays of tlie setting sun streaming 
through the window, cast a glorious purple tinge on the 
old bed and its beautiful occupant. Her white mantilla 
she had made into a curtain, which was secured to a 
filagree crucifix nailed to the wall above her head. Her 
veil fell gracefully over her well-proportioned and admir- 
able figure; and, bathed in this rose-colored light as a 
flower which closes its leaves together at the approach of 
evening, her long tresses falling upon her white shoulders, 
her hands crossed on her bosom as a saint on her marble 
tomb, she looked so chaste and heavenly that Anzoleto 
mentally exclaimed, ‘^Ah, Count Zustiniani, that you 
could see her this moment, and behold the prudent and 
jealous guardian of a treasure you vainly covet, beside 
her!’^ 

At this moment a faint noise was heard outside, and 
Anzoleto, v/hose faculties were kept on the stretch, 
thought he recognized the splashing of water at the foot of 
Oonsuelo^s ruined dwelling, although gondolas rarely 
approached the Corte Minelli. He mounted on a chair, 
and was by this means able to see through a sort of loop • 
hole near the ceiling, which looked toward the canal. He 
distinctly saw Count Zustiniani leave his bark, and 
question the half-naked children who played on the 
beach. He was uncertain whether he should awaken 
his betrothed or close the door ; but, during the ten 
minutes which the count occupied in finding out the 
garret of Consuelo, he had time to regain the utmost self- 
possession and to leave the door ajar, so that any one 
might enter without noise or hindrance; then reseating 
himself, he took a pen and pretended to write music. He 
appeared perfectly calm and tranquil, although his heart 
beat violently. 


76 


CONSUELO. 


The count slipped in, rejoicing in the idea of surprising 
his protegee, whose obvious destitution he conceived 
would favor his corrupt intentions. He brought Con- 
suelo^’s engagement ready signed along with him, and ho 
thought with such a passport his reception could not be 
very discouraging; but at the first sight of the stiange 
sanctuary in which this sweet girl slept her angelic sleep 
under the watchful eye of her contented lover. Count 
Zustiniani lost his presence of mind, entangled his cloak 
which he had thrown with a conquering air over his 
shoulders, and stopped between the bed and the table, 
utterly uncertain whom he should address. Anzoloto was 
revenged for the scene at the entrance of the gondola. 

My lord,” he exclaimed, rising as if surprised by an 
unexpected visit, shall I awaken my betrothed?” 

“ No,” replied the count, already at his ease, and 
affecting to turn his back that he might contemplate 
Oonsuelo; am so happy to see her thus, I forbid you 
to awaken her.” 

Yes, you may look at her,” thought Anzoleto; ‘‘\t is 
all I wished for.” 

Oonsuelo did not awaken, and the count, speaking in a 
low tone and assuming a gracious and tranquil aspect, 
expressed his admiration without restraint. You were 
right, Zoto,” said he with an easy air; Oonsuelo is the 
first singer in Italy, and I was wrong to doubt that she was 
the most beautiful woman in the world.” 

Your highness thought her frightful, however,” said 
Anzoleto, maliciously. 

You have doubtless complained to her of all my folly; 
but I reserve to myself the pleasure of obtaining pardon by 
so honorable and complete an apology that you shall not 
again be able to injure me in recalling my errors.” 

Injure you. Signor Count! — how could I do so even 
had I the wish?” 

Oonsuelo moved. Let us not awaken her too sud- 
denly,” said the count, and clear this table that I may 
place on it and read her engagement. Hold!” said he 
when Anzoleto had obeyed him; ^^cast your eyes over this 
paper while we wait for hers to open.” 

‘^An engagement before trial! — it is magnificent, my 
noble patron. And she is to appear at once, beforo Oorilla^s 

engagement has expired?” 


CONSXIELO, 77 

That is nothing; there is some trifling debt of a thousand 
sequins or so due her, which we shall pay off/^ 

But what if Gorilla should cabal 
We will confine her under the leads/^ 

‘^^Fore Heaven! nothing stops your highness/^ 

^'Yes, Zoto,’^ replied the count coldly; ‘‘thus it is: what 
we desire we do, toward one and all.’^ 

“ And the conditions are the same as for Gorilla — the 
same conditions for a debutante without name or reputa- 
tion as for an illustrious performer adored by the public?” 

“The new singer shall have even more; and if the con- 
ditions granted her predecessor do not satisfy her, she has 
only to say a word and they shall be doubled. Every thing 
depends upon herself,” continued he, raising his voice a 
little as he perceived that Gonsuelo was awake: “her fate 
is in her own hands.” 

Gonsuelo had heard all this partially, through her sleep. 
When she had rubbed her eyes and assured herself that 
she was not dreaming, she slid down into the space between 
the bed and the wall, without considering the strangeness 
of her position, and after arranging her hair, came forward 
with ingenuous confidence to join in the conversation. 

“Signor Gount,” said she, “you are only too good; but 
I am not so presumptuous as to avail myself of your offer. 
I will not sign this engagement until 1 have made a trial 
of my powers before the public. It would not be delicate 
on my part. I might not please — I might incur fiasco 
and be hissed. Even should I be hoarse or unprepared, 
or even ugly that da^^ your word would be still pledged — 
yon would be too proud to take it back and I to avail myself 
of it.” 

“Ugly on that day, Gonsuelo!— you ugly!” said the 
count, looking at her with burning glances; “come now,” 
he added, taking her by the hand and leading her to the 
mirror, “ look at yourself there. If you are adorable in 
this costume, what would you be, covered with diamonds 
and radiant with triumph?” 

The counFs impertinence made Anzoleto gnash his teeth; 
but the calm indifference with which Gonsuelo received his 
compliments restrained his impatience. “ Sir,” said she, 
pushing back the fragment of looking-glass which he held 
in his hand, “do not break my mirror; it is the only one 
I ever had, and it has never deceived me. Ugly or pretty. 


78 


CONSUELO. 


I refuse your liberality; and I may tell you frankly that I 
shall not appear unless my betrothed be similarly engaged. 
I will have no other theater nor any other public except 
his; we cannot be separate, being engaged to each other. 

This abrupt declaration took the count a little unawares, 
but he soon regained his equanimity. 

You are right, Consuelo,” replied he; I never in- 
tended to separate you; Zoto shall appear with yourself. 
At the same time I cannot conceal from you that his talents, 
although remarkable, are much inferior to yours.” 

‘^1 do not believe it, my lord,” said Consuelo, blushing 
as if she had received a personal insult. 

“I hear that he is your pupil, much more than that of 
the maestro I gave him. Do not deny it, beautiful Oon- 
suelo. On learning your intimacy, Porpora exclaimed, ‘1 
am no longer astonished at certain qualities he possesses 
which I was unable to reconcile with his defects.^” 

^‘Thanks to the Signor Professor” said Anzoleto with a 
forced smile. 

‘‘He will change his mind,” said Consuelo, gaily; “be- 
sides the public will contradict this dear good master.” 

“The good dear master is the best judge of music in the 
world,” replied the count. “ Anzoleto will do well to profit 
by your lessons; but we cannot arrange the terms of his 
agreement before we have ascertained the sentiments of 
the public. Let him make his appearance, and we shall 
settle with him according to justice and our own favorable 
feelings toward him, on which he has every reason to rely.” 

“Then let us both make our appearance,” replied Con- 
suelo; “ but no signature — no agreement before trial; on 
that I am determined.” 

“You are not satisfied with my terms, Consuelo; very 
well, then you shall dictate them yourself; here is the pen 
— add — take away — my signature is below.” 

Consuelo seized the pen; Anzoleto turned pale, and the 
count, who observed him, chewed with pleasure the end 
of the ruffle which he twisted on his fingers. Consuelo 
erased the contract and wrote upon the portion remaining 
above the signature of the count: 

“ Anzoleto and Consuelo severally agree to such condi- 
tions as it shall please Count Znstiniani to impose after 
their first appearance, which shall take place during the 
ensuing month at the theater of San Samuel,” 


CONSITELO. 




She signed rapidly, and passed the pen to her lover. 

“Sign without looking, said she. “You can do no 
less to prove your gratitude, and your confidence in your 
benefactor.” 

Anzoleto had glanced over it in a twinkling; he signed 
— it was but the work of a moment. The count read 
over his shoulder. 

“Consuelo,” said he, “you are a strange girl — in truth 
an admirable creature. You will both dine with me,” he 
continued, tearing the contract and offering his hand to 
Oonsuelo, who accepted it, but at the same time requested 
him to wait with Anzoleto in his gondola while she sliould 
arrange her toilet. 

“ Decidedly,” said she to herself when alone, “ I shall be 
able to buy a new marriage robe.” She then arranged her 
muslin dress, settled her hair, and flew down the stairs, 
singing with a voice full of freshness and vigor. Tlie 
count, with excess of courtesy, had waited for her with An- 
zoleto at the foot of the stair. She believed him further off, 
and almost fell into his arms, but suddenly disengaging 
herself, she took his hand and carried it to her lips, after 
the fashion of the country, with the respect of an inferior 
who does not wish to infringe upon the distinctions of 
rank ; then turning, she clasped her betrothed, and 
bounded with joyous steps toward the gondola, without 
awaiting the ceremonious escort of her somewhat mortified 
protector. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The count, seeing that Oonsuelo was insensible to the 
stimulus of gain, tried to flatter her vanity by offering her 
jewels and ornaments; but these she refused. Zustiniani 
at first imagined that she was aware of his secret inten- 
tions; but he soon saw that it was but a species of rustic 
pride, and that she would receive no recompense until she 
conceived she had earned it by working for the prosperity 
of his theater. He obliged her, however, to accept a white 
satin dress, observing that she could not appear with pro- 
priety in her muslin robe in his saloon, and adding that 
he would consider it a favor if she would abandon the 
attire of the people. She submitted her fine figure to the 


80 


COMSUELO. 


fashionable milliners, who turned it to good account, and 
did not spare the material. Thus transformed in two days 
into a woman of the world, and induced to accept a neck- 
lace of fine pearls which the count presented to her as pay- 
ment for the evening when she sang before him and his 
friends, she was beautiful, if not according to her own 
peculiar style of beauty, at least as she should be to be ad- 
mired by the vulgar. This result, however, was not per- 
fectly attained. At the first glance Consuelo neither 
struck nor dazzled any body; she was always pale, and her 
modest, studious habits took from her look that brilliant 
glance which we witness in the eyes of women whose only 
object is to shine. The basis of her character, as well as 
the distinguishing peculiarity of her countenance, was a 
reflective seriousness. One might see her eat, and talk, 
and weary herself with the trivial concerns of daily life, 
without even supposing that she was pretty; but once the 
smile of enjoyment, so easily allied to serenity of soul, 
came to light up her features, how charming she became ! 
And when she was further animated — when she interested 
herself seriously in the business of the piece — when she dis- 
played tenderness, exaltation of mind, the manifestation 
of her inward life and hidden power — she shone resplend- 
ent with all the fire of genius and love, she was another 
being, the audience were hurried away — passion-stricken 
as it were — annihilated at pleasure — without her being 
able to explain the mystery of her power. 

What the count experienced for her therefore astonished 
and annoyed her strangely. There were in this man of 
the w'orld artistic chords which had never yet been struck, 
and which she caused to thrill with unknown emotions; 
but this revelation could not penetrate the patrician’s soul 
sufficiently to enable him to discern the impotence and 
poverty of the means by which he attempted to lead away 
a woman so different from those he had hitherto endeav- 
ored to corrupt. 

He took patience and determined to try the effects of 
emulation. He conducted her to his box in the theater 
that she might witness Gorilla’s success, and that ambition 
might be awakened in her; but the result was quite dif- 
ferent from what might have been anticipated. Consuelo 
left the theater, cold, silent, fatigued, and in no way ex- 
cited by the noise and applause. Gorilla was deficient in 


C0N8UEL0. 


81 


solid talent, noble sentiment, and well-founded power; and 
Oonsuelo felt quite competent to form an opinion of this 
forced, factitious talent, already vitiated at its source by 
selfishness and excess. She applauded unconsciously, 
uttered words of formal approval, and disdained to put on 
a mask of enthusiasm for one whom she could neither fear 
nor admire. The count for a moment thought her under 
the influence of secret jealousy of the talents, or at least 
of the person, of the prima donna. This is nothing,” 
said he, to the triumphs which you will achieve when 
you appear before the public as you have already appeared 
before me. I hope that you are not frightened by what 
you see.” 

‘‘No, Signor Count,” replied Consuelo, smiling; “the 
public frightens me not, for I never think of it. I only 
think of what might be realized in the part which Gorilla 
fills in so brilliant a manner, but in which there are many 
defects which she does not perceive.” 

“ What! you do not think of the public ?” 

“ No; I think of the piece, of the intentions of the com- 
poser, of the spirit of the part, and of the good qualities 
and defects of the orchestra, from the former of which we 
are to derive advantage, while we are to conceal the latter 
by a louder intonation at certain parts. I li^en to the 
choruses, which are not always satisfactory, and require a 
more strict direction; I examine tlie passages on which all 
one’s strength is required, and also those of course where 
it may advantageously be reserved. You will perceive. 
Signor Count, that I have many things to think of besides 
the public, who know nothing about all that I have men- 
tioned, and can teach me nothing.” 

This grave judgment and serious inquiry so surprised 
Zustiniani that he could not utter a single question, and 
asked himself, with some trepidation, what hold a gallant 
like himself could have on a genius of this stamp. 

The appearance of the two debutants was preceded by 
all the usual inflated announcements; and this was the 
source of continual discussion and difference of opinion be- 
tween the Count and Porpora, Consuelo and her lover. The 
old master and his pupil blamed the quack announcements 
and all those thousand unworthy tricks which have driven 
ns so far into folly and bad faith. In Venice, during those 
days^ the journals had not much to say as to public affairs; 


82 


GONSUELO. 


they did not concern themselves with the composition 
of the audience; they were unaware of the deep resources 
of public advertisements, the gossip of biographical an- 
nouncements, and the powerful machinery of hired ap- 
plause. There was plenty of bribing, and not a few cabals, 
but all this was concocted in coteries, and brought about 
through the instrumentality of the public, warmly at- 
tached to one side, or sincerely hostile to the other. Art 
was not always the moving spring ; passions, great and 
small, foreign alike to art and talent, then ‘as now, came 
to do battle in the temple; but they were not so skillful in 
concealing these sources of discord, and in laying them to 
the account of pure love for art. At bottom, indeed, it 
was the same vulgar, worldly spirit, with a surface less 
complicated by civilization. 

Zustiniani managed these affairs more as a nobleman than 
as the conductor of a theater. His ostentation was a more 
powerful impulse than the avarice of ordinary speculators. 
He prepared the public in his saloons, and warmed up his 
representations beforehand. His conduct, it is true, was 
never cowardly or mean, but it bore the puerile stamp of 
self-love, a busy gallantry, and the pointed gossip of good 
society. He therefore proceeded to demolish, piece by piece, 
with considerable art, the edifice so lately raised by his own 
hands to the glory of Gorilla. Every body saw that he 
wanted to set up in its place the miracle of talent; and as 
the exclusive possession of this wonderful phenomenon was 
ascribed to him, poor Consuelo never suspected the nature 
of his intentions toward her, although all Venice knew 
that the count, disgusted with the conduct of Gorilla, was 
about to introduce in her place another singer; while many 
added, Grand mystification for the public, and great 
prejudice to the theater; for his favorite is a little street 
singer, who has nothing to recommend her except her fine 
voice and tolerable figure.^^ 

Hence arose fresh cabals for Gorilla, who went about 
playing the part of an injured rival, and who implored her 
extensive circle of adorers and their friends to do justice 
to the insolent pretensions of the zingarella. Hence, also 
new cabals in favor of Gonsuelo, by a numerous party, who, 
although differing widely on other subjects, united in a 
wish to mortify Gorilla, and elevate her rival in her place. 

As to the veritable dilettanti of music, they were equally 


C0N8VEL0. 


83 


divided between the opinion of the serious masters — such 
as Porpora, Marcello, and Jomelli, who predicted, with the 
appearance of an excellent musician, the return of the 
good old usages and casts of performance — and the anger 
of second-rate composers, whose compositions Gorilla had 
always preferred, and who now saw themselves threatened 
with neglect in her person. The orchestra, dreading to set 
to work on scores which had been long laid . aside, and 
which consequently would require study, all those r-etainers 
of the theater, who in every thorough reform always 
foresaw an entire change of the performers, even the very 
scene-shifters, the tirewomen, and the hairdressers — all 
were in movement for or against the debutante at San 
Samuel. In point of fact the debut was much more in 
every body^s thoughts than the new administration or the 
acts of the Doge, Pietro Grimaldi, who had just then 
peaceably succeeded his predecessor, Luigi Pisani. 

Consuelo was exceedingly distressed at these delays and 
the petty quarrels connected with her new career ; she 
would have wished to come out at once, without any other 
preparation than what concerned herself and the study of 
the new piece. She understood nothing of those endless 
intrigues which seemed to her more dangerous than useful, 
and which she felt she could very well dispense with. But 
the count, who saw more clearly into the secrets of his 
profession and who wished to be envied his imaginary hap- 
piness, spared nothing to secure partisans, and made her 
come every day to his palace to be presented to all the 
aristocracy of Venice. Consuelo’s modesty and reluctance 
ill supported his designs; but he induced her to sing, and 
the victory was at once decisive — brilliant — incontestible. 

Anzoleto was far from sharing the repugnance of his be- 
trothed for these secondary means. His success was by no 
means so certain as hers. In the first place the count was 
not so ardent in his favor, and the tenor whom he was to 
succeed was a man of talent, who would not be easily forgot- 
ten. It is true he also sang nightly at the counPs palace 
and Consuelo in their duets brought him out admirably; 
so that, urged and sustained by the magic of a genius su- 
perior to his own, he often attained great heights. He was 
on these occasions both encouraged and applauded; but 
when the first surprise excited by his fine voice wiis over, 
more especially when Consuelo had revealed herself, his de- 


84 


CON SUE LO. 


ficiency was apparent and frightened even himself. This 
was the time to work with renewed vigor; but in vain Consu- 
elo exhorted him and appointed him to meet her each morn- 
ing in the Corte Minelli — where she persisted in remaining 
spite of the remonstrances of the count, who wished to 
establish her more suitably — Anzoleto had so much to do — 
so many visits, engagements and intrigues on hand — such 
distracting anxieties to occupy his mind — that neither 
time nor courage was left for study. 

In the midst of these perplexities, seeing that the great- 
est opposition would be given by Gorilla, and also that the 
count no longer gave himself any trouble about her, Anzo- 
leto resolved to visit Iier himself in order to deprecate her 
hostility. As may easily be conceived, she had pretended 
to take the matter very lightly, and treated the neglect and 
contempt of Znstiniani with philosophical unconcern. She 
mentioned and boasted everywhere that she had received 
brilliant offers from the Italian opera at Paris, and 
calculating on the reverse which she thought awaited 
her rival, laughed outright at the illusions of the count 
and his party. Anzoleto thought that with pru- 
dence and by employing a little deceit, he might dis- 
arm this formidable enemy; and having perfumed and 
adorned himself, he waited on her at one in the afternoon 
— an hour when the siesta renders visits unusual, and the 
palaces silent. 


CHAPTEK XVII. 

Akzoleto found Gorilla alone in a charming boudoir, 
reclining on a couch in a becoming undress ; but the al- 
teration in her features by daylight, led him to suspect 
that her security with regard to Gonsuelo was not so great 
as her faithful partisans asserted. Nevertheless she re- 
ceived him with an easy air, and tapping him playfully on 
the cheek, while she made a sign to her servant to with- 
draw, exclaimed — Ah, wicked one, is it you? — are you 
come with your tales, or would you make me believe you 
are no dealer in flourishes, nor the most intriguing of all 
the postulants for fame? You were somewhat conceited, 
my handsome friend, if you supposed that I should be dis- 


dONSUELO. 


liGcirtened by your sudden flight after so many tender 
declarations ; and still more conceited was it to suppose 
that you were wanted, for in four-and-twenty hours I had 
forgotten that such a person existed.” 

‘‘Four-and-twenty hours! — that is a long time,” re- 
plied Anzoleto, kissing the plump and rounded arm of 
Gorilla. “ Ah ! if I believed that, I should be proud 
indeed ; but I know that if I was so far deceived as to 
believe you when you said ” 

“ What I said, I advise you to forget also. Had you 
called you would have found my door shut against you. 
What assurance to come to-day !” 

“ Is it not good taste to leave those who are in favor, 
and to lay one’s heart and devotion at the feet of her 
who ” 

“ Well, finish — to her who is in disgrace. It is most 
generous and humane on your part, most illustrious 
friend I” And Gorilla fell back upon the satin pillow with 
a burst of shrill and forced laughter. 

Although the disgraced prima donna was no longer in 
her early freshness — although the mid-day sun was not 
much in her favor, and although vexation had somewhat 
taken from the effect of her full-formed features — Anzoleto, 
who had never been on terms of intimacy with a woman 
so brilliant and so renowned, felt himself moved in regions 
of the soul to which Gonsuela had never descended, and 
whence he had voluntarily banished her pure image. He 
therefore palliated the raillery of Gorilla by a profession of 
love which he had only intended to feign, but which he 
now actually began to experience. I say love for want of 
a better word, for it were to profane the name to apply it 
to the attraction awakened by such women as Gorilla. 
When she saw the young tenor really moved, she grew 
milder, and addressed him after a more amiable fashion. 
“ I confess,” said she, “ you selected me for a whole even- 
ing, but I did not altogether esteem you. I know you are 
ambitious, and consequently false, and ready for every 
treason. I dare not trust to you. You pretended to be 
jealous on a certain night in my gondola, and took upon 
you the airs of a despot. That might have disenchanted 
me with the insipid gallantries of our patricians, but you 
deceived me, ungrateful one I you were engaged to another, 
and are going to marry — whom ? — oh ? I know very well — - 


86 


C0N8UEL0. 


my rival, my enemy, the debutante, the new protegee of 
Zustiniani. Shame upon ns two — upon us three — upon us 
all added she, growing animated in spite of herself, and 
withdrawing her hand from Anzoleto. 

Cruel creature \” he exclaimed, trying to regain her 
fair fingers, ‘‘you ought to understand what passed in my 
heart when I first saw you, and not busy yourself with what 
occupied me before that terrible moment. As to what 
happened since, can you not guess it, and is there any 
necessity to recur to the subject ?” 

“ I am not to be put off with half words and reserva- 
tions ; do you love the zingarella, and are you about to 
marry her ?” 

“ And if I loved her, how does it happen I did not marry 
her before V’ 

“ Perhaps the* count would have opposed it. Every one 
knows what he wants now. They even say that he has 
ground for impatience, and the little one still more so.” 

The color mounted to Anzoleto’s face when he heard lan- 
guage of this sort applied to the being whom he venerated 
above all others. 

“ Ah, you are angry at my supposition,” said Gorilla ; 
“it is well — that is what I wished to find out. You love 
her. When will the marriage take place ?” 

“ For the love of Heaven, madam, let us speak of no- 
body except ourselves.” 

“ Agreed,” replied Gorilla. “ So, my former lover and 
your future spouse ” 

Anzoleto was enraged ; he rose to go away, but what was 
he to do ? Should he enrage still more the woman whom 
he had come to pacify ? He remained undecided, dread- 
fully humiliated, and" unhappy at the part he had imposed 
on himself. 

Gorilla eagerly desired to win his affections, not because 
she loved him, but because she wished to be revenged on 
Consuelo, whom she had abused without being certain that 
her insinuations were well founded. 

“ You see,” saicl she, arresting him on the threshold with 
a penetrating look, “that I have reason to doubt you ; for 
at this moment you are deceiving some one — either her or 
myself.” 

“Neither one nor the other,” replied he, endeavoring to 
justify himself in his own eyes. “ I am not her lover, and 


GONSUELO, 87 

I never was so. I am not in love with her, for I am not 
jealous of the count. 

Oh ! indeed ? You are jealous even to the point of 
denying it, and you come here to cure yourself or distract 
your attention from a subject so unpleasant. Many thanks!'^ 
am not jealous, I repeat ; and to prove that it is not 
mortification which makes me speak, I tell you that 
the count is no more her lover than I am ; that she is vir- 
tuous, child as she is, and that the only one guilty towards 
you is Count Zustiniani.” 

So, so ; then I may hiss the zmgarella without afflict- 
ing you. You shall be in my box on the night of her 
debut, and you shall hiss her. Your obedience shall be the 
price of my favor — take me at my word, or I draw back.^"" 

Alas! madam, you wish to prevent me appearing my- 
self, for you know I am to do so at the same time as Con- 
suelo. If you hiss her, I shall fall a victim to your wrath, 
because I shall sing with her. And what have I done, 
wretch that I am, to displease you? Alas! I had a deli- 
cious but fatal dream. I thought for a whole evening that 
you took an interest in me, and that I should grow great 
under your protection. Now I am the object of your 
hatred and anger — I, who have so loved and respected 
you as to fly you! Very well, madam; satiate your 
enmity. Overthrow me — ruin me — close my career. So 
that you can here tell me, in secret, that I am not hateful 
to you, I shall accept the public marks of your anger. 

Serpent!’^ exclaimed Gorilla, where have you im- 
bibed the poison which your tongue and your eyes distil? 
Much would I give to know, to comprehend you. for you 
are the most amiable of lovers and the most dangerous of 
enemies.” 

your enemy! how could I be so, even were I not 
subdued by your charms? Have you enemies then, divine 
Gorilla? Can you have them in Venice, where you are 
known and where you rule over no divided empire? A 
love quarrel throws the count into despair ; he would re- 
move you, since thereby he would cease to suffer. He 
meets a little creature in his path who appears to display 
resources, and who only asks to be heard. Is this a crime 
on the part of a poor child, who only hears your name 
with terror, and who never utters it herself without 
respect? And you ascribe to this little one insolent pre- 


88 


CONSUELO. 


tensions which she does not entertain. The efforts of the 
count to recommend her to his friends, the kindness of 
these friends, who exaggerate her deserts, the bitterness of 
yours, who spread calumnies which serve but to annoy and 
vex you, while they should but calm your soul in pictur- 
ing to you your glory unassailable and your rival all 
trembling — these are the prejudices which 1 discover in 
you, and at which I am so confounded that I hardly know 
how to assail them.^^ 

‘‘You know but too well, with that flattering tongue of 
yours,” said Gorilla, looking at him with tenderness mixed 
with distrust ; “I hear the honeyed words which reason 
bids me disclaim. I wager that this Consuelo is divinely 
beautiful, whatever may have been said to the contrary, 
and that she has merits, though opposed to mine, since 
the severe Porpora has proclaimed them.” 

“ You know Porpora ; you know all his crotchety ideas. 
An enemy of all originality in others, and of every innova- 
tion in the art of song, he declares a little pupil, who 
listens to his dotage, submissive to his pedantry, and who 
runs over the scale decently, to be preferable to all the 
wonders which the public adores. How long have you 
tormented yourself about this crazy old fool?” 

“ She afraid? I was told, on the contrary, that she was 
gifted with rare impudence.” 

“Alas, poor girl! they do wish to ruin her then. You 
shall hear her, noble Gorilla ; you will be moved by a gen- 
erous pity, and you will encourage instead of hissing her as 
you said just now in jest.” 

“ Either you deceive me, or my friends have greatly de- 
ceived me with regard to her.” 

“ Your friends have allowed themselves to be deceived. In 
their indiscreet zeal they have been terrified at seeing a rival 
raised up against you — terrified by a child ! — terrified for 
you! Ah! those persons cannot love you much, since they 
appreciate you so little. Oh! if I had the happiness to be 
your friend, I should know better what you are, and I 
should not do you the injustice to be affrighted by any 
rivalry, were it even that of a Faustina or a Molteni.” 

“Do not believe that I have been frightened. I am 
neither jealous nor malicious ; the success of others having 
never injured mine, I have never troubled myself about 
them. But when 1 think that they endeavor to brave me 
and to make me suffer — — ” 


GONSUELO. 


89 


Do you wish me to bring the little Coiisuelo to your 
feet? If she had dared, she would already have conie to 
ask your advice and your assistance. But she is so timid 
a child! and then they had calumniated you to her. They 
said to her also that you were cruel, vindictive, and that 
you reckoned confidently on her fall.^^ 

Did they say that? Then I understand why you are 
here.” 

No, madam, you do not understand ; for I did not 
believe it an instant — I never shall believe it. Oh no, 
madam! you do not understand why.” 

In speaking thus, Anzoleto made his black eyes sparkle, 
and bent his knee before Gorilla with an expression of 
profound respect and love. 

‘‘She is without talent then?” 

“ Why, she has a passable voice, and sings decently at 
church, but she can know nothing of the theater ; and be- 
sides, she is so paralyzed with fear, that it is much to be 
dreaded she will lose the few resources that Heaven has 
given her.” 

Gorilla was destitute neither of acuteness nor ill-nature ; 
but as happens to women excessively taken with them- 
selves, vanity sealed her eyes and precipitated her into the 
clumsy trap. 

She thought she had nothing to apprehend as regarded 
Anzoleto’s sentiments for the debutante. When he justi- 
fied himself, and swore by all the gods that he had never 
loved this young girl, save as a brother should love, 
he told the truth, and there was so much confidence in his 
manner that Gorilla’s jealousy was overcome. At length 
the great day approached, and the cabal was annihilated. 
Gorilla, on her part, thenceforth went on in a different 
direction, fully persuaded that the timid and inexperienced 
Gonsuelo would not succeed, and that Anzoleto would owe 
her an infinite obligation for having contributed nothing 
to her downfall. Besides, he had the address to embroil 
her with her firmest champions, pretending to be jealous, 
and obliging her to dismiss them rather rudely. 

While he thus labored in secret to blast the hopes of a 
woman whom he pretended to love, the cunning Venetian 
played another game with the count and Gonsuelo. He 
boasted to them of having disarmed this most formidable 
enemy by dexterous management, interested visits, and 


90 


C0N8UEL0. 


bold falsehoods. The count, frivolous and somewhat of a 
gossip, was extremely amused by the stories of his protege. 
His self-love was flattered at the regret which Gorilla was 
said to experience on account of their quarrel, and he 
urged on this young man, with the levity which one wit- 
nesses in affairs of love and gallantry, to the commission 
of cowardly perfldy. Oonsuelo was astonished and dis- 
tressed. “ You would do better,'^ said she, to exercise 
your voice and study your part. You think you have done 
much in propitiating the enemy, but a single false note, a 
movement badly expressed, would do more against you 
with the impartial public than the silence of the envious. 
It is of this public that you should think, and I see with 
pain that you are thinking nothing about it.^^ 

^^Be calm, little Oonsuelo,^' said he ; ^‘your error is to 
believe a public at once impartial and enlightened. Those 
best acquainted with the matter are hardly ever in earnest, 
and those who are in earnest know so little about it, that 
it only requires boldness to dazzle and lead them away/^ 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

Ik the midst of the anxieties awakened by the desire of 
success and by the ardor of Gorilla, the jealousy of Anzo- 
leto with regard to the count slumbered. Happily Con- 
suelo did not need a more watchful or more moral protec- 
tor. Secure in innocence, she avoided the advances of 
Zustiniani, and kept him at a distance precisely by caring 
nothing about it. At the end of a fortnight this Venetian 
libertine acknowledged that she had none of those worldly 
passions which lead to corruption, though he spared no 
pains to make them spring up. But even in this respect 
he had advanced no further than the first day, and he 
feared to ruin his hopes by pressing them too openly. Had 
Anzoleto annoyed him by keeping watch, anger might 
have caused him to precipitate matters; but Anzoleto left 
him at perfect liberty. Consuelo distrusted nothing, and 
he only tried to make himself agreeable, hoping in time to 
become necessary to her. There was no sort of delicate at- 
tentions, or refined gallantries, that he omitted. Con- 
suelo placed them all to the account of the liberal and ele- 


CON SUE LO. 


91 


gant manners of bis class, united witli a love for art and a 
natural goodness of disposition. Slie displayed toward 
him an unfeigned regard, a sacred gratitude, while he, 
happy and yet dissatisfied with this pure-hearted unreserve, 
began to grow uneasy at the sentiment which he inspired 
until such period as he might wish to break the ice. 

AVhile he gave himself up with fear, and yet not without 
satisfaction, to this new feeling — consoling himself a little 
for his want of success by the opinion which all Venice en- 
tertained of his triumph — Gorilla experienced tlie same 
transformation in herself. She loved with ardor, if not 
with devotion; and her irritable and imperious soul bent 
beneath the yoke of her young Adonis. It was truly the 
queen of beauty in love with the beautiful hunter, and for 
the first time humble and timid before the mortal of her 
choice. Sheatfected, with a sort of delight, virtues which 
she did not possess; So true it is that the extinction of 
self-idolatry in favor of another, tends to raise and ennoble, 
were it but for an instant, hearts the least susceptible of 
pure emotions. 

The emotion which she experienced reacted on her tal- 
ents, and it was remarked at the theater that she performed 
pathetic parts more naturally and with greater sensibility. 
But as her character and the essence of her nature were 
thus as it seemed inverted, as it required a sort of internal 
convulsion to effect this change, her bodily strength gave 
way in the combat, and each day they observed — some 
with malicious joy, others with serious alarm — the failure 
of her powers. Her brilliant execution w^as impeded by 
shortness of breath and false intonations. The annoyance 
and terror which she experienced weakened her still 
further, and at the representation which took place pre- 
vious to the debut of Consuelo, she sang so false, and failed 
in so many brilliant passages, that her friends applauded 
faintly, and were soon reduced to silence and consternation 
by the murmurs of her opponents. 

At length the great day arrived ; the house was filled to 
suffocation. Oorillo, attired in black, pale, agitated, more 
dead than alive, divided between the fear of seeing her 
lover condemned and her rival triumph, was seated in the 
recess of her little box in the theater. Crowds of the aris- 
tocracy and beauty of Venice, tier above tier, made a bril- 
liant display. The fops were crowded behind the scenes, 


92 


GONSUELO. 


and even in the front of the stage. The lady of the Doge 
took her place along with the great dignitaries of the re- 
public. Porpora directed the orchestra in person; and Count 
Zustiniani waited at the door of Consuelo^s apartment till 
she had concluded her toilet, while Anzoleto, dressed as an 
antique warrior, with all the absurd and lavish ornament 
of the age, retired behind the scenes to swallow a draught 
of Cyprus wine, in order to restore his courage. 

The opera was neither of the classic period nor yet the 
work of an innovator. It was the unknown production of 
a stranger. To escape the cabals which his own name or 
that of any other celebrated person would have caused, 
Porpora, above all things anxious for the success of his 
pupil, had brought forward Ipermnestra, the lyrical pro- 
duction of a young German, who had enemies neither in 
Italy nor elsewhere, and who was styled simply Christo- 
pher Gluck. 

When Anzoleto appeared on the stage a murmur of ad- 
miration burst forth. The tenor to whom he succeeded — an 
admirable singer, who had had the imprudence to continue 
on the boards till his voice became thin and age had 
changed his looks — was little regretted by an ungrateful 
public; and the fair sex, who listened oftener with their 
eyes than with their ears, were delighted to find, in place 
of a fat elderly man, a fine youth of twenty-four, fresh as' 
a rose, fair as Phoebus, and formed as if Phidias himself 
had been the artist — a true son of the lagunes, Bianco, 
crespo e grassotto. 

He was too much agitated to sing his first air well, but 
his magnificent voice, his graceful attitudes, and some 
happy turns, sufficed to propitiate the audience and satisfy 
the ladies. The debutant had great resources; he was 
applauded threefold, and twice brought back before the 
scenes, according to the custom of Italy, and of Venice in 
particular. 

Success gave him courage, and when he re-appeared with 
Ipermnestra, he was no longer afraid. But all the effect 
of this scene was for Consuelo. They only saw, only 
listened to her. They said to each other, “ Look at her — 
yes, it is sheT^ “Who? the Spaniard?” “Yes — the 
debutante, Vamante del Zustiniani.'^ 

Consuelo entered, self-possessed and serious. Casting 
her eyes around she received the plaudits of the spectators 


G0N8UEL0. 


93 


with a propriety of manner equally devoid of liumility and 
coquetry, and sang a recitative with so firm a voice, with 
accents so lofty, and a self-possession so victorious, that 
cries of admiration from the very first resounded from 
every part of the theater. ‘^Ah! the perfidious creature 
has deceived me,"' exclaimed Gorilla, darting a terrible 
look toward Anzoleto, who could not resist raising his 
eyes to hers with an ill-disguised smile. She threw her- 
self back upon her seat, and burst into tears. 

Consuelo proceeded a little furtliier; while old Lotti was 
heard muttering with his cracked voice from his corner, 
‘‘Amici mieiy questo e un portentoF' 

She sang a bravura, and was ten times interrupted. 
They shouted “Encore!" they recalled her to the stage 
seven times amid thunders of applause. At length the 
furor of Venetian dilettantism displayed itself in all its 
ridiculous and absurd excess. “ Why do they cry out 
thus?" said Consuelo, as she retired behind the scenes only 
to be brought back immediately by the vociferous applause 
of the pit. “One would think that they wished to stone 
me." 

From that moment they paid but a secondary attention 
to Anzoleto. They received him very well indeed, because 
they were in a happy vein ; but the indulgence with 
which they passed over the passages in which he failed, 
without immediately applauding those in which he suc- 
ceeded, showed him very plainly, that however he might 
please the women, the noisy majority of males held him 
cheaply, and reserved their tempestuous applause for the 
prima donna. Not one among all those who had come 
with hostile intentions, ventured a murmur, and in truth 
there were not three among them who could withstand 
the irresistible inclination to applaud the wonder of the 
day. 

The piece had the greatest success, although it was not 
listened to, and nobody was occupied with the music in 
itself. It was quite in the Italian style — graceful, touch- 
ing, and gave no indication of the author of Alcestes and 
Orpheus, There were not many striking beauties to as- 
tonish the audience. After the first act, the German 
maestro was called for, with Anzoleto, the debutante, and 
Clorinda, who, thanks to the protection of Consuelo, had 
sung through the second part with a flat voice and au 


94 


CONSUELO. 


inferior tone, but whose beautiful arms propitiated the 
spectators — Rosalba, whom she had replaced, being very 
lean. 

In the last act, Anzoleto, who secretly watched Gorilla 
and perceived her increasing agitation, thought it prudent 
to seek her in her box, in order to avert any explosion. 
So soon as she perceived him she threw herself upon him 
like a tigress, bestowed several vigorous cutfs, the least 
of which was so smart as to draw blood, leaving a mark 
that red and white «ould not immediately cover. The 
angry tenor settled matters by a thrust on the breast, which 
threw the singer gasping into the arms of her sister 
Rosalba. ^‘Wretch! traitor!’^ she murmured in a chok- 
ing voice, your Consuelo and you shall perish by my 
hand 

“ If you make a step, a movement, a single gesture, I 
will stab you in the face of Venice,” replied Anzoleto, pale 
and with clenched teeth, while his faithful knife, which 
he knew how to use with all the dexterity of a man of the 
lagunes, gleamed before her eyes. 

'‘He would do as he says,” murmured the terrified 
Rosalba ; " be silent — let us leave this : we are here in 
danger of our lives.” 

Although this tragi-comic scene had taken place after 
the manner of the Venetians, in a mysterious and rapid 
sotto voce, on seeing the debutant pass quickly behind the 
scenes to regain his box, his cheek hidden in his hand, 
they suspected some petty squabble. The hairdresser, 
who was called to adjust the curls of the Grecian prince 
and to plaster up his wound, related to the whole band of 
choristers that an armorous cat had sunk her claw into the 
face of the hero. The aforesaid barber was accustomed 
to this kind of wounds, and was no new confident of such 
adventures. The anecdote made the round of the stage, 
penetrated, no one knew how, into tlie body of the house, 
found its way into the orchestra, the boxes, and, with 
some additions, descended to the pit. They were not yet 
aware of the position of Anzoleto with regard to Gorilla; 
but some had noticed his apparent devotion to Glorinda, 
and the general report was, that the seco7ida donna, jealous 
of the prima donna, had just blackened the eye and 
broken three teeth of the handsomest of tenors. 

This was sad news for some, but an exquisite bit of 


G0N8UEL0. 


95 


scandal for the majority. They wondered if the represen- 
tation would be put off, or whether the old tenor, Stefanini, 
should have to appear, roll in hand, to finish the part. 
The curtain rose, and every thing was forgotten on seeing 
Consuelo appear, calm and sublime as at the beginning. 
Although her part was not extremely tragical, she made it 
so by the power of her acting and" the expression of her 
voice. She called forth tears, and when the tenor re- 
appeared, the slight scratch only excited a smile; but this 
absurd incident prevented his success from being so bril- 
liant, and all the glory of the evening was reserved for 
Consuelo, who was applauded to the last with frenzy. 

After the play, they went to sup at the Palace Zustini- 
ani, and Anzoleto forgot Gorilla, whom he had shut up in 
her box, and who was forced to burst it open in order to 
leave it. In the tumult which always follows so successful 
a representation, her retreat was not noticed ; but the 
next day, this broken door coincided so well with the torn 
face of Anzoleto, that the love affair, hitherto so carefully 
concealed, was made known. 

Hardly was he seated at the sumptuous banquet which 
the count gave in honour of Consuelo, and while all the 
Venetian dilettanti handed to the ti-iumphant actress son- 
nets and madrigals composed the evening before, when a 
valet slipped under his plate a little billet from Gorilla, 
which he read aside, and which was to the following ef- 
fect: 

‘ ‘ If you do not come to me this instant, I shall go to seek you 
openly, were you even at the end of the world — were you even at the 
feet of your Consuelo, thrice accursed.” 

Anzoleto pretended to be seized with a fit of coughing, 
and retired to write an answer with a pencil on a piece of 
ruled paper which he had torn in the antechamber of the 
count from a music-book: 

“ Come if you will. My knife is ready, and with it my scorn and 
hatred.” 

The despot was well aware that with such a creature 
fear was the only restraint — that threats were the only ex- 
pedient at the moment; but in spite of himself he was 
gloomy and absent during the repast, and as soon as it was 
over he hurried off to go to Gorilla. 

He found the unhappy girl in a truly pitiable condition. 


96 


CONSUELO. 


Convulsions were followed by torrents of tears. She was 
seated at the window, her hair dishevelled, her eyes swol- 
len with weeping, and her dress disordered. She sent 
away her sister and maid, and in spite of herself, a ray of 
joy overspread her features, at finding herself with him 
whom slie had feared she might never see again. But An- 
zoleto knew her too well to seek to comfort her. He knew 
that at the first appearance of pity or repentance he would 
see her fury revive, and seize upon revenge. He resolved 
to keep up the appearance of inflexible harshness; and al- 
though he was moved with her despair, he overwhelmed 
her with cruel reproaches, declaring that he was only come 
to hid her an eternal farewell. He suffered her to throw 
herself at his feet, to cling by his knees even to the door, 
and to implore his pardon in the anguish of grief. When 
he had thus subdued and humbled her, he pretended to be 
somewhat moved, and promising to return in the morning, 
he left her. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

When Anzoleto awoke the following morning, he ex- 
perienced a reverse of the jealousy with which Count Zus- 
tiniani had inspired him. A thousand opposing senti- 
ments divided his soul. First, that other jealousy which 
the genius and success of Consuelo had awakened in his 
bosom. This sank the deeper in his breast in proportion 
as he measured the triumph of his betrothed with what in 
his blighted ambition he was pleased to call his downfall. 
Again the mortification of being supplanted in reality, as 
he was already thought to be, with her, now so triumphant 
and powerful, and of whom the preceding evening he was 
so pleased to believe himself the only lover. These two 
feelings possessed him by turns, and he knew not to which 
to give himself up in order to extinguish the other. He 
had to chose between two things, either to remove Con- 
suelo from the count and from Venice, and along with her 
to seek his fortune elsewhere, or to abandon her to his ri- 
val, and take his chance alone in some distant country with 
no drawback to his success. In this poignant uncertainty, 
in place of endeavoring to recover his calmness with his 
true friend, he returned to Corilla, and plunged back into 


C0N8UEL0. 


97 


the storm. She added fuel to the flame, by showing him, 
in even stronger colors than he had imagined the preced- 
ing night, all the disadvantages of his position. ‘^No 
person,^^ said she, ‘Ms a prophet in his own country. 
This is a bad place for one who has been seen running about 
in rags, and where every one may say — (and God knows 
the nobles are sufficiently given to boast of the protection, 
even when it is only imaginary, which they accord to 
artists)--‘ I was his protector; I saw his hidden talent; it 
was I who recommended and gave him a preference.^ You 
have lived too much in public here, my poor Anzoleto. 
Your charming features struck those who knew not what 
was in you. You astonished people who have seen you in 
their gondolas singing the stanzas of Tasso, or doing their 
errands to gain the means of support. The plain Oonsuelo, 
leading a retired life, appears here as a strange wonder. 
Besides she is a Spaniard, and uses not the Venetian ac- 
cent; and her agreeable, though somewhat singular pro- 
nunciation, would please them, even were it detestable. 
It is something of which their ears are not tired. Your 
good looks have contributed mainly to the slight success 
you obtained in the first act, but now people are accus- 
tomed to yon.^^ 

“ Do not forget to mention that the handsome scratch 
you gave me beneath the eye, and for which I ought never 
to pardon you, will go far to lessen the last-mentioned 
trifling advantage/^ 

“ On the contrary, it is a decided advantage in the eyes 
of women, but frivolous in those of men. You will reign 
in the saloons with the one party; without the other you 
would fall at the theater. But how can you expect to oc- 
cupy their attention, when it is a woman who disputes it 
with you — a woman who not only enthrals the serious 
dilettanti, but who intoxicates by her grace and the magic 
of her sex, all who are not connoisseurs in music. To 
struggle with me, how much talent did Stefanini, Savario 
— all indeed who have appeared with me on the stage 
require. 

“ In that case, dear Gorilla, I should run as much risk 
in appearing with you as with Oonsuelo. If I were in- 
clined to follow you to France, you have given me fair 
warning. 

These words which escaped from Anzoleto were as a ray 


98 


CONSUELO. 


of light to Gorilla. She saw that she had hit the mark 
more nearly than she had supposed, for the thought of 
leaving Venice had already dawned in the mind of her 
lover. The instant she conceived the idea of bearing him 
away with her, she spared no pains to make him relish the 
project. She humbled herself as much as she could, and 
even had the modesty to place herself below her rival. 
She admitted that she was not a great singer, nor yet suffi- 
ciently beautiful to attract the public; and as all this was 
even truer than she cared to think, and as Anzoleto was 
very well aware of it, having never been deceived as to the 
immense superiority of Consuelo, she had little trouble in 
persuading him. Their partnership and flight were 
almost determined upon at this interview, and Anzoleto 
thought seriously of it, although he always kept a loop- 
hole for escape if necessary. 

Gorilla, seeing his uncertainty, urged him to continue to 
appeaV, in hopes of better success; but quite sure that these 
unlucky trials would disgust him altogether with Venice 
and with Gonsuelo. 

On leaving his fair adviser, he went to seek his only real 
friend, Gonsuelo. He felt an unconquerable desire to see 
her again. It was the first time he had begun and ended 
a day without receiving her chaste kiss upon his brow; but 
as, after what had passed with Gorilla, he would have 
blushed for his own instability, he persuaded himself that 
he only went to receive assurance of her unfaithfulness, and 
to undeceive himself as to his love for her. ‘‘ Doubtless, 
said he, the count has taken advantage of my absence to 
urge his suit, and who can tell how far he has been suc- 
cessful?^' This idea caused a cold perspiration to stand 
upon his forehead; and the thought of Gonsuelo's perfidy 
so affected him that he hastened his steps, thinking to find 
her bathed in tears. Then an inward voice, which drowned 
every other, told him that he wronged a being so pure and 
noble, and he slackened his pace, reflecting on his own 
odious conduct, his selfish ambition, and the deceit and 
treachery with which he had stored his life and conscience, 
and which must inevitably bear their bitter fruit. 

He found Gonsuelo in her black dress seated beside her 
table, pure, serene, and tranquil, as he had ever beheld her. 
She came forward to meet him with the same affection as 
ever, and questioned him with anxiety, but without dis- 


G0N8UBL0. 99 

trust or reproach, as to the employment of his time during 
his absence. 

I have been suffering, said he, with the very deep de- 
spondency which his inward humiliation had occasioned. 
“ I hurt my head against a decoration, and although I 
told you it was nothing, it so confused me that I was 
obliged to leave the Palazzo Zustiniani last night lest I 
should faint and have to keep my bed all morning. 

Oh, Heavens said Consuelo, kissing the wound in- 
flicted by her rival; “you have suffered, and still suflfer.^^ 

“No, the rest lias done me good; do not think of it; 
but tell me how you managed to get home all alone last 
night.” 

“Alone? Oh, no; the count brought me in his 
gondola.” 

“ Ah, I was sure of it,” cried Anzoleto, in a constrained 
voice. “ And of course he said a great many flattering 
things to you in this interview.” 

“What could he say that he had not already said a 
hundred times? He would spoil me and make me vain 
w^ere I not on my guard against him. Beside, we were not 
alone; my good master accompanied me — ah! my excellent 
friend and master.” 

“ What master? — what excellent friend?” said Anzoleto, 
once more reassured, and already absent and thoughtful. 

“ Why, Porpora, to be sure. What are you thinking of?” 

“I am thinking, dear Consuelo, of your triumph yester- 
day evening; are you not thinking of it too?” 

“ Less than of yours, I assure you.” 

“ Mine! ah, do not. jest, dear friend; mine was so meager 
that it rather resembled a downfall.” 

Consuelo grew pale with surprise. Notwithstanding 
her remarkable self-possession, she had not the necessary 
coolness to appreciate the different degree of applause be- 
stowed on herself and her lover. There is in this sort of 
ovation an intoxication which the wisest artists cannot shun, 
and which deceives some so widely as to induce them to 
look upon the support of a cabal as a public triumph. But 
instead of exaggerating the delight of her audience, Con- 
suelo, terrified by so frightful a noise, had hardly under- 
stood it, and could not distinguish the preference awarded 
to her over Anzoleto. She artlessly chid him for his un- 
reasonable expectations ; and seeing that she could not 


100 


CONSUELO. 


persuade him nor conquer his sadness, she gently re- 
proaclied him with being too desirous of glory, and with 
attaching too much value to the favor of the world. I 
have always told you,^^ said she, '‘that you prefer the re- 
sults of art to art itself. When we do our best — when we 
feel that we have done well — it seems to me that a little 
more or less of approbation can neither add to nor dimin- 
ish our inward satisfaction. Kecollect what Porpora said 
to me the first time I sang at the Zustiniani palace: ' Who- 
ever is penetrated with a true love of his art need fear 
nothing ’ 

"You and your Porpora,^’ interrupted Anzoleto, with 
some heat, "can very easily satisfy yourselves with these 
fine maxims. Nothing is so easy as to philosophize on 
the evils of life when you know only its sweets. Porpora, 
although poor and oppressed, has an illustrious name. He 
has gathered so many laurels that his old head may whiten 
peaceably under their shade. You, who feel yourself in- 
vincible, are inaccessible to fear. At the first leap you 
raise yourself tp the highest round of the ladder, and 
blame those who have no legs for their dizziness. That is 
not only uncharitable, Consuelo, but decidedly unjust. 
And besides, your argument is not applicable to me; you 
say that we should despise the approbation of the public 
when we have our own; but if I possess not that inward 
testimony of having done well, what then ? Can you 
not see that I am horribly dissatisfied with myself? Did 
you not heiir that I was detestable? Did you not hear 
that I sang miserably?'^ 

"No; for it was not so. You neither exceeded nor fell 
short of yourself. The emotion which you experienced 
hardly at all diminished your powers. Besides, it was 
quickly dissipated, and those things which you knew well 
you expressed well.'’' 

"And those which I did not know?" said Anzoleto, 
fixing upon her his large black eyes, rendered hollow by 
fatigue and anxiety. 

She sighed and remained for an instant silent; then she 
said, embracing him: "Those which you do not know you 
must learn. If you had been only willing to study be- 
tween the rehearsals, as I recommended — but this is not 
the time to reproach you ; on the contrary, it is the time 
to repair all. Come, let us take only two hours a day, and 


CONSUELO. 


101 


you will see how soon we shall triumph over the obstacles 
which oppose your success.” 

‘MVill it then be the work of one day?” 

** It will be the work of some months at most.” 

And I play to-morrow! I continue to appear before 
an audience which judges me by my defects much more 
than by my good qualities.” 

But which will quickly perceive your progress.” 

^^Who knows? If they take an aversion to me?” 

'^They have proved the contrary.” 

So then you think they have been indulgent to me?” 

^^Well, yes; they have, my friend. In those places 
where you were weak, they were kind ; where you were 
strong, they did you justice.” 

But, in the meanwhile, I shall have a miserable en- 
gagement.” 

The count is magnificent in all his dealings, and does 
not spare money. Besides, has he hot offered me more 
than enough to maintain us both in opulence?” 

Ah! there it is! I shall live by your success!” 

I have lived long enough by your favor.” 

But it is not money that I refer to. If he does engage 
me at a small salary, that is of little consequence ; but he 
will engage me for the second and third parts.” 

‘^He has no other prwio uomo"^ at hand. For a long 
time past he has relied and depended upon you. Besides, 
he is all in your favor. You said he would be opposed to 
our marriage. Far from that, he seems to wish it, and 
often asks me when I will invite him to my wedding.” 

^‘Ah, very good ! very good, indeed ! Many thanks. 
Signor Count.” 

What do you mean by that?” 

'^Nothing. Only, Oonsuelo, you were very wrong not 
to prevent my appearance until my faults, with which you 
were so well acquainted, were corrected by more mature 
study. For, I repeat it, you knew my faufts.” 

‘^Did I not speak openly to you? Have I not often 
warned you? But you always told me that the public did 
not understand ; and when I saw the success you had at 
the count^s palace the first time you sang there, I 
thought ” 


^Mrst man as prima donna is first lady. 


102 


CONSUELO. 


^^That the people of fashion knew no more than the 
vulgar public/^ 

I thought that your good qualities would be more 
striking than your faults; and it has been so, it seems to 
me, with one as well as with the other.” ' : 

^^In fact,” thought Anzoleto, “she speaks trtily, and if 
I could put off my engagement — but then I run the risk 
of seeing a tenor take my place who would not give- it 
back to me.” 

“ Let me see,” said he, after taking several turns up and 
down the apartment; “ what are my faults?” 

“What I have often told you: too much boldness, 
and not sufficient preparation ; an energy more feverish 
than sustained ; dramatic effects, which are the work of 
the will rather than of emotion. You were not imbued 
with the feeling of your part as a whole. You learned 
it by fragments. You saw in it only a succession of 
pieces more or less brilliant, and you did not seize 
either the gradation, or the development, or the aggregate. 
In your anxiety to display your fine voice and the facility 
which you possess in certain respects, you exhibit the 
whole extent of your powers almost on your entrance upon 
the scene. On the slightest opportunity you endeavored 
after effect, and all your effects were alike. At the end of 
the first act they knew you — ay, knew you by heart ; but 
they did not know that that was all, and still expected 
something prodigious for the end. That something was 
not in you. Your emotion was expended, and your voice 
h^d no longer the same freshness. You felt this, you 
forced both the one and the other; the audience felt it 
likewise, and to your great surprise remained unmoved 
when you considered yourself most pathetic. The reason 
was, that at that moment they did not see the artist inspired 
by passion, but the actor laboring for success.” 

“And how do others do?” cried Anzoleto, stamping his 
foot. “ Have I not heard them all — all who have been 
applauded at Venice during the last ten years? Did not 
old Stefanini scream when his voice failed him? And yet 
they applauded him with transport.” 

“ It is true, and I do not understand how the people 
could be so deceived. Without doubt they recollected the 
time when he had more power, and did not wish to hurt 
his feelings in his old age,” 


GONStiBLO. 


103 

And Oorilla too, that idol whom you overthrew, did 
not she strain after effect? — did she not make efforts which 
were painful to see and to hear? Was she really excited 
when they applauded her to the skies?” 

‘^It w’as because I considered her method factitious, her 
effects detestable, her playing as well as her singing desti- 
tute of taste and grandeur, that I presented myself so 
calmly upon the stage, persuaded, like you, that the public 
knew little about it.” 

Ah!” said Anzoleto, with a deep sigh, there you put 
your finger upon my wound, my poor Consuelo.” 

How is that, my well beloved?” 

^^How is that? do you ask me? We deceived our- 
selves, Consuelo. The public does know. The heart 
teaches what ignorance conceals. It is an overgrown child, 
who requires to be amused and excited. It is contented 
with what is given it, but show it something better, and 
then -it compares and understands. Gorilla could charm 
it last week, although she sung false and wanted breath. 
You appear, and Oorilla is lost, effaced, buried. Let her 
re-appear, and she would be hissed. If I had made my 
dehiit after her, I should have had complete success, as I 
had at the counffs the first time I sang after her. But 
beside you I was eclipsed. It ought to be so, and it always 
will be so. The public had a taste for tinsel — it mistook 
paste for precious stones — it was dazzled by it. It is 
showni a diamond of the first water, and already it cannot 
understand how it could have been so grossly deceived. 
It can no longer endure false diamonds, and holds them 
at their true value. This is my misfortune, Consuelo, 
that I was brought in comparison with you, like a piece of 
Venetian glass beside a pearl of the fathomless ocean.” 

Consuelo did not understand all the bitterness and 
truth contained in these observations. She placed them 
to the account of her betrothed^s affection, and answered 
to what she considered soft flatteries only by smiles and 
caresses. She pretended that he would surpass her if he 
would only take pains, and raised his courage by persuad- 
ing him that nothing was easier than to sing like her. In 
this she was perfectly sincere, having never been retarded 
by any difficulty, and not knowing that labor itself is the 
first of obstacles for him who has not the love of it united 
with perseverance. 


104 


CONSUELO. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Eisrcotriil&Er) by Consnelo’s frankness and by the faith- 
less Corilla^s perfidy, to present himself once more in 
public, Anzoleto began to work vigorously, so that at the 
second representation of I^yermnestra he sang much better. 
But as the success of Oonsuelo was proportionably greater, 
he was still dissatisfied, and began to feel discouraged by 
this confirmation of his inferiority. Every thing from this 
moment wore a sinister aspect. It appeared to him that 
they did not listen to him — that the spectators who were 
near him were making humiliating observations upon his 
singing — and that benevolent amateurs, who encouraged 
him behind the scenes, did so with an air of pity. Their 
praises seemed to have a double meaning, of which he 
applied the less favorable to himself. Gorilla, whom he 
went to consult in her box between the acts, pretended to 
ask him with a frightened air if he were not ill. 

Why?” said he, impatiently. 

Because your voice is dull, and you seem overcome. 
Dear Anzoleto, strive 'to regain your powers, which were 
paralyzed by fear or discouragement.” 

Did I not sing my first air well?” 

Not half so well as on the first occasion. My heart 
sank so that I found myself on the point of fainting.” 

•‘But the audience applauded me, nevertheless.” 

“Alas! what does it signify? I was wrong to dispel 
your illusion. Continue then; but endeavor to clear your 
voice.” 

“ Consuelo,” thought he, “ meant to give me good 
advice. She acts from instinct, and succeeds. But where 
could I gain the experience which would enable me to 
restrain the unruly public? In following her counsel I 
lose my own natural advantages: and they reckon nothing 
on the improvement of my style. Come, let me return to 
my early confidence. At my first appearance at the 
county I saw that I could dazzle those whom I failed to 
persuade. Did not old Porpora tell me that I had the 
blemishes of genius. Come, then, let me bend this public 
to my dictation, and make it bow to the yoke.” 

He exerted himself to the utmost, achieved wonders iu 


CONSUELO, 


105 


the second act, and was listened to with surprise. Some 
clapped their hands, others imposed silence, while the 
majority inquired whether it were sublime or detestable. 

A little more boldness, and Anzoleto might perhaps 
have won the day; but this reverse affected him so much 
that he became confused, arid broke down sliamefully in 
the remainder of his part. 

At the third representation he had resumed his confi- 
dence, and resolved to go on in his own way. Not heed- 
ing the advice of Consuelo, he hazarded the wildest 
caprices, the most daring absurdities. Cries of ‘‘oh, 
shame mingled with hisses, once or twice interrupted 
the silence with which these desperate attempts were 
received. The good and generous public silenced the 
hisses, and began to applaud; but it was easy to perceive 
tlie kindness was for the person, the blame for the artist. 
Anzoleto tore his dress on re-entering his box, and scarcely 
had the representation terminated, than he flew to Gorilla, 
a prey to the deepest rage, and resolved to fly with her to 
the ends of the earth. 

Three days passed without his seeing Consuelo. She 
inspired him neither with hatred nor coldness, but merely 
with terror; for in the depths of a soul pierced with re- 
morse, he stiir cherished her image, and suffered cruelly 
from not seeing her. He felt the superiority of a being 
who overwhelmed him in public with her superiority, but 
who secretly held possession of his confidence and his 
good-will. In his agitation he betrayed to Gorilla how 
truly he was bound to his noble-hearted betrothed, and 
what an empire she held over his mind. Gorilla was mor- 
tified, but knew how to conceal it. She pitied him, 
elicited a confession, and so soon as she had learned the 
secret of his jealousy, she struck a grand blow, by making 
Zustiniani aware of their mutual affection, thinking that 
the count would immediately acquaint Consuelo, and thus 
render a reconciliation impossible. 

Surprised to find another day pass away in the solitude 
of her garret, Consuelo grew uneasy; and as still another 
day of mortal anguish and vain expectation drew to its 
close, she wrapped herself in a thick mantle, for the famous 
singer was no longer sheltered by her obscurity, and ran 
to the house occupied for some weeks by Anzoleto, a more 
comfortable abode than what he had before enjoyed, and. 


106 


CONSUELO. 


one of the numerous houses which the count possessed in 
the city. She did not find him, and learned that he was 
seldom there. 

This did not enlighten her as to his infidelity. She 
knew his wandering and poetic habits, and thought that, 
not feeling at home in these sumptuous abodes, he had re- 
turned to his old quarters. She was about to continue her 
search, when, on returning to pass the door a second time, 
she found herself face to face with Porpora. 

'‘Consuelo,” said he in a low voice, ^Mt is useless to 
hide from me your features. I have just heard your voice, 
and cannot be mistaken in it. What do you here at this 
hour, my poor child, and whom do you seek in this 
house 

“I seek my betrothed, replied Consuelo, while she 
passed her arm within that of her old master; ^‘and I do 
not know why I should blush to confess it to my best 
friend. I see very well that you disapprove of my attach- 
ment, but I could not tell an untruth. I am unhappy ; I 
have not seen Anzoleto since the day before yesterday at 
the theater; he must be unwell.” 

He unwell !” said the professor, shrugging his should- 
ers. ‘^Oome, my poor girl, we must talk over tliis matter; 
and since you have at last opened your heart to me, I must 
open mine also. Give me your arm ; we can converse as 
we go along. Listen, Consuelo, and attend earnestly to 
what I say. You cannot — you ought not — to be the wife 
of this young man. I forbid you, in the name of God, 
Avho has inspired me with the feelings of a father toward 
you.” 

^'Oh, my master,” replied Consuelo, mournfully, ^Lask 
of me the sacrifice of my life, but not that of my love.” 
do not ask it — I command it,” said Porpora, firmly. 

The lover is accursed — he will prove your torment and 
your shame, if you do not forswear him for ever,” 

^^.Dear master,” replied she, with a sad and tender 
smile, ^^you have told me so very often — I have endeav- 
ored in vain to obey you. You dislike this poor youth ; 
you do not know him, and I am certain you will alter your 
mind.” 

Consuelo,” said the master, more decidedly, have 
till now, I know, made vain and useless objections. 1 
spoke to you as an artist, and as to an artist, as I only saw 


C0N8UEL0, 


107 


one in your betrotlied. Now I speak to you as a man — I 
speak to you of a man — and I address you as a woman. 
This womaiTs love is wasted; the man is unworthy of it, 
and he who tells you so knows he speaks the truth. 

Oh, Heavens! Anzoleto — my only friend, my protec- 
tor, my brother — unworthy of my love! Ah, you do not 
know what he has done for me ; how he has cared for me 
since I was left alone in the world. I must tell you all 
and Consuelo related the history of her life and of her love, 
and it was one and the same history. 

Porpora was affected, but not shaken from his purpose. 

In all this,^^ said he, ^‘1 see nothing but your inno- 
cence, your virtue, your fidelity. As to him, I see very 
well that he has need of your society and your instructions, 
to which, whatever you may think, he owes the little that 
he knows and the little he is worth. It is not, however, 
the less true, that this pure and upright lover is no better 
than a castaway — that he spends his time and money in 
low dissipation — and only thinks of turning you to the 
best account in forwarding his career.” 

‘‘ Take heed to what you say,” replied Consuelo, in 
suffocating accents. ^‘I have always believed in you, 0 
my master! after God ; but as to what concerns Anzoleto, 
I have resolved to close my heart and my ears. Ah, suf- 
fer me to leave you,” she added, taking her arm from the 
professor — it is death to listen to you.” 

^^Let it be death then to your fatal passion, and through 
the truth let me restore you to life,” he said, pressing her 
arm to his generous and indignant breast. I know that 
I am rough, Consuelo — I cannot be otherwise ; and there- 
fore it is that I have put off as long as I could the blow 
which I am about to inflict. I had hoped that you would 
open your eyes, in order that you might comprehend what 
was going on around you. But in place of being enlight- 
ened by experience, you precipitate yourself blindly into 
the abyss. I will not suffer you to do so — you, the only 
one for whom I have cared for many years. You must 
not perish — no, you must not perish.” 

But, my kind friend, I am in no danger. Do you be- 
lieve that I tell an untruth when I assure you by all that is 
sacred that I have respected my mother's wishes? I am 
not Anzoleto's wife, but I am his betrothed.” 

And you were seeking this evening the man who may 
not and cannot be your husband.” 


108 


GONSUELO, 


Who told you so?” 

Would Gorilla ever permit him?” 

Gorilla! — what has he to say to Gorilla?” 

We are but a few paces from this girFs abode. Do 
you seek your betrothed ? If you have courage you will 
find him there.” 

^^No, no! a thousand times no!” said Gonsuelo, totter- 
ing as she went, and leaning for support against the wall. 
‘^Let me live, my master — do not kill me ere I have well 
begun to live. I told you that it was death to listen to 
you.” 

‘'You must drink of the cup,” said the inexorable old 
man ; “ I but fulfill your destiny. Having only realized 
ingratitude, and consequently made the objects of my 
tenderness and attention unhappy, I must say the truth to 
those I love. It is the only thing a heart long withered 
and rendered callous by snfiering and despair can do. I 
pity you, poor girl, in that you have not a friend more 
gentle and humane to sustain you in such a crisis. But 
such as I am I must be ; I must act upon others, if not as 
with the sun’s genial heat, with the lightning’s blasting 
power. So then, Gonsuelo, let there be no paltering be- 
tween us. Gome to this palace. You must surprise your 
faithless lover at the feet of the treacherous Gorilla. If 
you cannot walk, I must drag you along — if you cannot 
stand, I shall carry you. Ah, old Porpora is yet strong, 
when the fire of Divine anger burns in his heart!” 

“Mercy, mercy!” exclaimed Gonsuelo, pale as death. 
“Suffer me yet to doubt. Give me a day, were it but a 
single day, to believe in him — I am not prepared for this 
infliction.” 

“ No, not a day — not a single hour!” replied he inflexi- 
bly. “ Away! I shall not be able to recall the passing hour, 
to lay the truth open to you ; and the faithless one will 
take advantage of the day which you ask, to place you 
again under the dominion of falsehood. Gome with me — 
I command you — I insist on it.” 

“Well, I will go!” exclaimed Gonsuelo, regaining 
strength, through a violent reaction of her love. “ I will 
go, were it only to demonstrate your injustice and the 
truth of my lover ; for you deceive yourself unworthily, as 
you would also deceive me. Gome, then, executioner as 
you are, I shall follow, for I do not fear you,’^ 


CONSUBLO, 


109 


Porpora took her at her word ; and seizing her with a 
hand of iron, he conducted her to the mansion which he 
inhabited. Having passed through the corridors and 
mounted the stairs, they reached at last a terrace whence 
they could distinguish over the roof of a lower building, 
completely unhabited, the palace of Gorilla, entirely 
da^-kened with the exception of one lighted window, which 
opened upon the somber and silent front of the deserted 
house. Any one at this window might suppose that no 
person could see them ; for the balcony prevented any one 
from seeing up from below. There was nothing level with 
it, and above, nothing but the cornice of the house which 
Porpora inhabited, and which was not placed so as to com- 
mand the palace of the singer. But Gorilla was ignorant 
that there was at the angle a projection covered with lead, 
a sort of recess concealed by a large chimney, where the 
maestro with artistic caprice came every evening to gaze at 
the stars, shun his fellows, and dream of sacred or dra- 
matic subjects. Ghance had thus revealed to him the in- 
timacy of Anzoleto with Gorilla, and Gonsuelo had only to 
look in the direction pointed out, to discover her lover in a 
tender tete-a-t4te with her rival. She instantly turned 
away ; and Porpora, who, dreading the effects of the sight 
upon her, had hekl her with superhuman strength, led her 
to a lower story into his apartments, shutting the door 
and window to conceal the explosion which he anticipated. 


GHAPTER XXI. 

But there was no explosion. Gonsuelo remained silent, 
and as it were stunned. Porpora spoke to her. She made 
no reply, and signed to him not to question her. She 
then rose, and going to a large pitcher of iced water which 
stood on the harpsichord, swallowed great draughts of it, 
took several turns up and down the apartment, and sat 
down before her master without uttering a word. 

The austere old man did not comprehend the extremity 
of her sufferings. 

Well, said he, ^^did I deceive you? What do you 
think of doing?'’ 

A painful shudder shook her motionless figure — she 
passed her hand over her forehead. 


no 


C0N8UEL0. 


can think of nothing,” said she, ^nill I understand 
what has happened to me.” 

And what remains to be understood ?” 

Every thing ! because I understand nothing. I am 
seeking for the cause of my misfortune without finding 
any thing to explain it to me. What have I done to 
Anzoleto that he should cease to love me ? What fault 
have I committed to render me unworthy in his eyes ? 
You cannot tell me, for I search into my own heart and can 
find there no key to the mystery. 0 ! it is inconceivable. 
My mother believed in the power of charms. Is Gorilla a 
magician ?” 

‘‘ My poor child,” said the maestro, there is indeed a 
magician, but she is called Vanity ; there is indeed a poison, 
which is called Envy. Gorilla can dispense it, but it was 
not she who molded the soul so fitted for its reception. 
The venom already fiowed in the impure veins of Anzoleto. 
An extra dose has changed him from a knave into a traitor 
— faithless as well as ungrateful.” 

What vanity, what envy ?” 

The vanity of surpassing others. The desire to excel, 
and rage at being surpassed by you.” 

Is that credible ? Gan a man be jealous of the advant- 
ages of a woman ? Gan a lover be displeased with the 
success of his beloved ? Alas ! there are indeed many 
things which I neither know nor understand.” 

And will never comprehend, but which you will ex- 
perience every hour of your existence. You will learn that 
a man can be jealous of the superiority of a woman, when 
this man is an ambitious artist ; and that a lover can loathe 
the success of his beloved when the theater is the arena of 
their efforts. It is because an actor is no longer a man, 
Gonsuelo — he is turned into a woman. He lives but 
through the medium of his sickly vanity, which alone he 
seeks to gratify, and for which alone he labors. The 
beauty of a woman he feels a grievance ; her talent ex- 
tinguishes or competes with his own. A woman is his 
rival, or rather he is the rival of a woman ; he lias all the 
littleness, all the caprice, all the wants, all the ridiculous 
airs of a coquette. This is the character of the greatest 
number of persons belonging to the theater. There are 
indeed grand exceptions, but they are so rare, so admirable, 
that one should bow before them and render them homage, 


CONSVELO. 


Ill 


as to the wisest and best. Anzoleto is no exception ; he is 
the vainest of the vain. In that one word you have the ex- 
planation of his conduct. 

‘'But what unintelligible revenge ! What poor and in- 
sufficient means ! How can Gorilla recompense him for 
his losses with the public ? Had he only spoken openly to 
me of his suffering (alas ! it needed only a word for that), 
I should have understood him perhaps — at least I would 
have compassionated him, and retifed to yield him the first 
place. 

“It is the peculiarity of envy to hate people in propor- 
tion to the happiness of which it deprives them ; just as it 
is the peculiarity of selfish love to hate in the object which 
we love, the pleasures which we are not the means of pro- 
curing him. While your lover abhors the public which 
loads you with glory, do you not hate the rival who intoxi- 
cates him witli her charms ? 

“My master, you have uttered a profound reflection, 
which I would fain ponder on.” 

“It is true. While Anzoleto detests you for your happi- 
ness on the stage, you hate him for his happiness in the 
boudoir of Gorilla.” 

“It is not so. I could not hate him; and you have 
made me feel that it would be cowardly and disgraceful to 
hate my rival. As to the passion with which she fills him, 
I shudder to think of it — why I know* not. If it be in- 
voluntary on his part, Anzoleto is not guilty in hating my 
success.” 

“ You are quick to interpret matters, so as to excuse his 
conduct and sentiments. No ; Anzoleto is not innocent or 
estimable in his suffering like you. He deceives, he dis- 
graces you, while you endeavor to justify him. How- 
ever, I did not wish to inspire you with hatred and resent- 
ment, but with calmness and indifference. The character 
of'this man influences his conduct. You will never change 
him. Decide, and think only of yourself.” 

“ Of myself — of myself alone ! Of myself, without hope 
or love !” 

“ Think of music, the divine art, Gonsuelo ; you would 
not dare to say that you love it only for Anzoleto ?” 

“I have loved art for itself also ; but I never separated 
in my thoughts these inseparable objects — my life and that 
of Anzoleto. How shall I be able to love any thing when 
the half of my existence is taken away ?” 


C0N8UEL0. 


1V2 


Anzoleto was nothing more to yon than an idea, and 
this idea imparted life. Yon will replace it by one greater, 
purer, more elevating. Yonr sonl, yonr genius, yonr entire 
being, will no longer be at the mercy of a deceitful, fragile 
form ; yon shall contemplate the snblime ideal stripped of 
its earthly covering ; yon shall monnt heavenward, and live 
in holy nnison with God himself. 

Do yon wish, as yon once did, that I should become a 
nnn ?” 

‘‘No ; this were to confine the exercise of yonr artistic 
faculties to one direction, whereas yon should embrace all. 
Whatever yon do, or wherever yon are, in the theater or in 
the cloister, yon may be a saint, the bride of heaven.^' 

“What yon say is fnll of sublimity, but shronded in a 
mysterious garb. Permit me to retire, dear master ; I 
require time to collect my thoughts and question my heart.^^ 

“ Yon have said it, Oonsnelo ; yon need insight into your- 
self. Hitherto in giving np yonr heart and yonr prospeqts 
to one so much yonr inferior, yon have not known yourself. 
Yon have mistaken yonr destiny, seeing that yon were born 
without an equal, and consequently without the possibility 
of an associate in this world. Solitude, absolute liberty, 
are needfnl for yon. I would not wish yon hnsband, or 
lover, or family, or passions, or bonds of any kind. It is 
thus I have conceived yonr existence, and would direct 
yonr career. The day on which yon give yonrself away, 
yon lose yonr divinity. Ah, if Mingotti and Moltini, my 
illnstrions pupils, my powerful creations, had believed in 
me, they would have lived unrivaled on the earth. Bnt 
woman is weak and enrions; vanity blinds her, vain desires 
agitate, caprices hurry her away. In what do these dis- 
quietudes result? — what bnt in storms and weariness, in 
the loss, the destruction, or vitiation, of their genius. 
Would yon not be more than they, Oonsnelo? Does not 
yonr ambition soar above the poor concerns of this life ? 
or would yon not appease these vain desires, and seize the 
glorions crown of everlasting genius?’^ 

Porpora continued to speak for a long time with an elo- 
qnence and energy to which I cannot do justice. Oonsnelo 
listened, her looks bent upon the ground. When he had 
finished, she said: “My dear master, yon are profound; 
bnt I cannot follow yon sufficiently throughout. It seems 
to me as if yon ontraged human natnre in proscribing its 


CONSUELO, 


113 


most noble passions — as if you would extinguish the in- 
stincts which God himself had implanted, for the purpose 
of elevating what would otherwise be a monstrous and 
anti-social impulse. Were I a better Christian I should 
perhaps better understand you; I shall try to become so, 
and that is all I caii promise. 

She took her leave, apparently tranquil, but in reality 
deeply agitated. The great though austere artist conducted 
her home, always preaching but never convincing. He 
nevertheless was of infinite service in opening to her a vast 
field of serious thought and inquiry, wherein Anzoleto's 
particular crime served but as a painful and solemn intro- 
duction to thoughts of eternity. She passed long hours, 
praying, weeping, and reflecting ; then lay down to rest, 
with a virtuous and confiding hope in a merciful and com- 
passionate God, 

The next day Porpora announced to her that there 
would be a rehearsal of Iperm7iestra for Stefanini, who was 
to take Anzoleto’s part. The latter was ill, confined to 
bed, and complained of a loss of voice. Consuelo’s first 
impulse was to fly to him and nurse him. Spare your- 
self this trouble,^" said the professor, he is perfectly well; 
the physician of the theater has said so, and he will be 
this evening with Gorilla. But Count Zustiniani, who un- 
derstands very well what all that means, and who consents 
without much regret that he should put off his appearance, 
has forbidden the physician to unmask the pretense, and 
has requested the good Stefanini to return to the theater 
for some days.’^ 

^^But, good Heavens! what does Anzoleto mean to do ? 
Is he about to quit the theater?” 

^‘Yes — the theater of San Samuel. In a month he is 
off with Gorilla for France. That surprises you? He flies 
from the shadow which you cast over him. He has en- 
trusted his fate to a woman whom he dreads less, and 
whom he will betray so soon as he finds he no longer re- 
quires her. 

Consuelo turned pale, and pressed her hands convul- 
sively on her bursting heart. Perhaps she had flattered 
herself with the idea of reclaiming Anzoleto, by reproach- 
ing him gently with his faults, and offering to put off her 
appearance for a time. This news was a dagger stroke to 
her, and ghe could not believe that she should no more see 


114 


CONSUELO. 


him whom she had so fondly loved. Ah/^ said she, it 
is but an uneasy dream; I must go and seek him; he will 
explain every thing. He cannot follow this woman; it 
would be his destruction. I cannot permit him to do so; 
I will keep him back; I will make him aware of his true 
interests, if indeed he be any longer capable of compre- 
hending them. Come with me, dear master; let us not 
forsake him thus.^^ 

I will abandon you,^^ said the angry Porpora, ^^and for 
ever, if you commit any such folly. Entreat a wretch — 
dispute with Gorilla? Ah, Santa Cecilia! distrust your 
Bohemian origin, extinguish your blind and wandering in- 
stincts. Come! they are waiting for you at rehearsal. 
You will feel pleasure in singing with a master like Stefan- 
ini, a modest, generous, and well-informed artist.’^ 

He led her to the theater, and then for the first time she 
felt an abhorrence of this artist life, chained to the wants 
of the public, and obliged to repress one^s ovvn sentiments 
and emotions to obey those of others. This very rehearsal, 
the subsequent toilet, the performance of the evening, 
proved a frightful torment. Anzoleto was still absent. 
Next day there was to be an opera buffa of Galnppi^s — 
Arcifaiifano Re de^ MafM. They had chosen this farce to 
please Stefanini, who was an excellent comic performer. 
Consuelo must now make those laugh whom she had for- 
merly made weep. She was brilliant, charming, pleasing 
to the last degree, though plunged at the same time in de- 
spair. Twice or thrice sobs that would force their way 
found vent in a constrained gaiety, which would have ap- 
peared frightful to those who understood it. On retiring 
to her box, she fell down insensible. The public would 
have her return to receive their applause. She did not ap- 
pear; a dreadful uproar took place, benches were broken, 
and people tried to gain the stage. Stefanini hastened to 
her box half dressed, his hair disheveled, and pale as a 
specter. She allowed herself to be supported back upon 
the stage, where she was received with a shower of 
bouquets, and forced to stoop to pick up a laurel crown. 

Ah, the pitiless monstersP^ she murmured as she retired 
behind the scenes. 

My sweet one,’' said the old singer, who gave her his 
hand, “ you suffer greatly; but these little things,” added 
he, picking up a bunch of brilliant flowers, ‘^'are a specific 


CONSUELO. 


115 


for all oiir woes; you will become used to it, and the time 
perhaps will arrive when you will only feel fatigue and un- 
easiness when they forget to crown/^ 

‘‘ Oh, how hollow and trifling they are!’^ thought poor 
Consuelo. When she returned to her box she fainted 
away, literally upon a bed of flowers, which had been gath- 
ered on the stage and thrown pell-mell upon the sofa. The 
tirewoman left the box to call a physician. Count Zustiniani 
remained for some instants alone by the side of his beauti- 
ful singer, who looked pale and broken as the beautiful jas- 
mines which strewed her couch. Carried away by his ad- 
miration, Zustiniani lost his reason, and yielding to his 
foolish hopes, he seized her hand and carried it to his lips. 
But his touch was odious to the pure-minded Consuelo. 
She roused herself to repel him as if it had been the bite of 
a serpent. Ah! far from me,^^ said she, excited into a 
sort of delirium; far from me, all love, all caresses, and all 
honeyed words! — no love — no husband— no lover — no family 
for me! my dear master has said it — liberty, the ideal, soli- 
tude, glory !^^ and she burst into such an agony of tears, that 
the count, terrifled, threw himself upon his knees before her, 
and strove to calm her. But he could say nothing healing to 
that wounded soul, and his passion, which at that moment 
reached its highest paroxysm, expressed itself in spite of 
him. lie understood but too well in her emotion the de- 
spair of the betrayed lover. He gave expression to the en- 
thusiasm of a hopeful one. Consuelo appeared to hear 
him, and withdrew her hand from his with a vacant 
smile, which the count took for a slight encouragement. 

Some men, although possessing great tact and penetra- 
tion in the world, are absurd in such conjectures. The phy- 
sician arrived and administered a sedative in the style 
which they called drops. Consuella was then enveloped in 
her mantle and carried to her gondola. The count entered 
with her, supporting her in his arms, and always talking 
of his love, even with a certain eloquence w^hich it seemed 
to him must carry conviction. At the end of a quarter of 
an hour, obtaining no response, he implored a word, a 
look. 

''To what then shall I answer?’^ said Consuelo, rousing 
herself as from a dream; " I have heard nothing. 

Zustiniani, although at first discouraged, thought there 
could not be a better opportunity, and that this afflicted 


116 


CONSUELO. 


soul would be more accessible than after reflection and rea- 
son. He spoke again, but there was the same silence, the 
same abstraction, only that there was a not-to-be-mistaken 
effort, though without any angry demonstration, to repel 
his advances. When the gondola touched the shore, he 
tried to detain Oonsuelo for an instant, to obtain a word of 
encouragement. ^^Ah, signor, said she, coldly, ^‘excuse 
my weak state. I have heard badly, but I understand. Oh 
yes, I understand perfectly. I ask this night, this one 
night to reflect, to recover from my distress. To-morrow, 
yes, to-morrow, I shall reply without fail.^^ 

To-morrow! dear Oonsuelo, oh, it is an age! But I 
shall submit — only allow me at least to hope for vour friend- 
ship.” 

‘‘Oh, yes, yes! there is hope,” replied Oonsuelo, in a 
constrained voice, placing her foot upon the bank ; “ but 
do not follow me,” said she, as she motioned him with an 
imperious gesture back to the gondola; “ otherwise there 
will be no room for hope.” 

Shame and anger restored her strength, but it was a ner- 
vous, feverish strength, which found vent in hysteric 
laughter as she ascended the stairs. 

“You are very happy, Oonsuelo,” said a voice in the 
darkness, which almost stunned her; “I congratulate you 
on your gaiety.” 

“ Oh, yes,” she replied, while she seized Anzoleto^s arm 
violently, and rapidly ascended with him to her chamber. 
“I thank you, Anzoleto. You were right to congratulate 
me. I am truly happy — oh, so happy!” 

Anzoleto, who had been waiting for her, had already 
lighted the lamp, and when the bluish light fell upon their 
agitated features, they both started back in affright. 

“We are very happy, are we not, Anzoleto?” said she 
with a choking voice, while her features were distorted 
with a smile that covered her cheeks with tears. “ What 
think you of our happiness?” 

“I think, Oonsuelo,” replied he, with a calm and bitter 
smile, “ that we have found it troublesome, but we shall 
get on better by and bye.” 

“You seemed to me to be much at home in CorilWs 
boudoir.” 

“ And you, I And, very much at your ease in the gondola 
ofthecouut/^ ^ 


OO^SItElO, 117 

The count! You knew, then, Anzoleto, that the count 
Wished to supplant you in my affection?’" 

And in order not to annoy you, my dear, I prudently 
kept in the background.” 

Ah, you knew it; and this is the time you have taken 
to abandon me!” 

Have I not done well? are you not content with your 
lot? The count is a generous lover, and the poor con- 
demned singer would have no business, I fancy, to contend 
with him.” 

'^Porpora was right: you are an infamous man. Leave 
my sight! You do not deserve that I should justify my- 
self. It would be a stain were I to regret you. Leave me, 
I tell you; but first know that you can come out at Venice 
and re-enter San Samuel with Gorilla. Never shall my 
mother’s daughter set foot upon the vile boards of a theater 
again.” 

“The daughter of your mother the zingara wiW play 
the great lady in the villa of Zustiniani, on the shores of 
the Brenta. It will be a fair career, and I shall be glad of 
it.” 

“Omy mother!” exclaimed Oonsuelo, turning toward 
the bed and falling on her knees, as she buried her face 
in the counterpane, which had served as a shroud for the 
zingara, 

Anzoleto was terrified and affected by this energetic 
movement, and the convulsive sobs which burst from the 
breast of Oonsuelo. Remorse seized on his heart, and he 
approached his betrothed to raise her in his arms; but she 
rose of herself, and pushing him from her with wild 
strength, thrust him toward the door, exclaiming, as she 
did so, “Away — away! from my heart, from my memory! 
farewell forever!” 

Anzoleto had come to seek her with a low and selfish 
design, nevertheless it was the best thing he could have 
done. lie could not bear to leave her, and he had struck 
out a plan to reconcile matters. He meant to inform her 
of the dangers she ran from the designs of Zustiniani, and 
thus remove her from the theater. In this resolution he 
paid full homage to the pride and purity of Oonsuelo. He 
knew her incapable of tampering with a doubtful position, or 
of accepting protection which ought to make her blush. 
His guilty and corrupt soul still retained unshaken 


118 


CONSUELO. 


faith in the innocence of this young girl, whom he was 
certain of finding as faithful and devoted as he had left her 
days before. But how reconcile this devotion with the 
preconceived design of deceiving her, and, without a 
rupture with Gorilla, of remaining still her betrothed, her 
friend? He wished to re-enter the theater with the latter, 
and could not think of separating at the very moment 
when his success depended on her. This audacious and 
cowardly plan was nevertheless formed in his mind, and 
he treated Oonsuelo as the Italian women do those madon- 
nas whose protection they implore in the hour of repent- 
ance, and whose faces they veil in their erring moments. 

When he beheld her so brilliant and so gay in her buffa 
part at the theater, he began to fear that he had lost too 
much time in maturing his design. When he saw her 
return in the gondola of the count, and approach with a 
joyous burst of laughter, he feared he was too late, and 
vexation seized him; but when she rose above his insults, 
and banished him with scorn, respect returned with fear, 
and he wandered long on the stair and on the quay, ex- 
pecting her to recall him. He even ventured to knock and 
implore pardon through thedoor; but a deep silence reigned 
in that chamber, whose thresliold he was never to cross 
with Oonsuelo again. He retired, confused and chagrined, 
determining to return on the morrow, and flattering himself 
that he should then prove more successful. After 
all, said he to himself, ^^my project will succeed; slie 
knows the count’s love, and all that is requisite is half 
done.” 

Overwhelmed with fatigue, he slept; long in the after- 
noon he went to Gorilla. 

Great news?” she exclaimed, running to meet him 
with outstretched arms; Oonsuelo is off.” 

'^Off ! gracious Heaven! whither, and with whom?” 

‘‘To Vienna, where Porpora has sent her, intending to 
join her there himself. She has deceived us all, the little 
cheat. She was engaged for the emperor’s theater, where 
Porpora purposes that she should appear in his new 
opera.” 

“ Gone! gone without a word!” exclaimed Anzoleto, 
rushing toward the door. 

“It is of no use seeking her in Venice,” said Gorilla, 
with a sneering smile and a look of triumph. “ She set 


CONSUELO. 


119 


out for Palestrina at daybreak, and is already far from this 
on the mainland. Zustiniani, who thought himself beloved, 
but who was only made a fool of, is furious, and confined 
to his couch with fever; but he sent Porpora to me just 
now, to try and get me to sing this evening; and Stef- 
anini, who is tired of the stage, and anxious to enjoy tlie 
sweets of his retirement in his casino, is very desirous to 
see you resume your performances. Therefore prepare for 
appearing to-morrow in Ipeiinnestra. In the meantime, 
as they are waiting for me, I must run away. If you do 
not believe me, you can take a turn through the city, and 
convince yourself that I have told you the truth.” 

By all the furies!” exclaimed Anzoleto, ^‘you have 
gained your point, but you have taken my life along with 
it.” 

And he swooned away on the Persian carpet of the 
false Gorilla. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The person most embarrassed respecting the part he 
had to play after the flight of Oonsuelo, was Count Zns- 
tiniani. After having allowed it to be said, and led all 
Venice to believe, that the charming singer favored his 
addresses; how could he explain, in a manner flattering to 
his self-love, the fact that, at the first declaration, she had 
abruptly and mysteriously disappeared, and thus thwarted 
his wishes and his hopes? Many thought that, jealous of 
his treasure, he had hidden her in one of his country 
houses. But when they heard Porpora, with that blunt 
openness which never deceived, say that he had advised his 
pupil to precede and wait for him in Germany, nothing 
remained but to search for the motives of so strange a 
resolution. The count, indeed, to put them off the track, 
pretended to show neither vexation nor surprise; but his 
disappointment betrayed itself in spite of him, and they 
ceased to attribute to him that good fortune -on which he 
had been so much congratulated. The greater portion of 
the truth became clear to all the world — viz.: the infidelity 
of Anzoleto, the rivalry of Gorilla, and the despair of the 
poor Spaniard, whom they pitied and sincerely regretted. 
Anzoleto ’s first impulse had been to run to Porpora; but 


120 


CONSUELO. 


the latter repulsed him sternly. Cease to question me, 
ambitious young man, without heart and without truth,” 
the indignant master replied; ‘^you never merited the 
affection of that noble girl, and you shall never know from 
me what has become of her. I will take every care that 
you shall not find a trace of her; and if by chance you 
should one day meet with her, I hope that your image will 
be effaced from her heart and memory as fully as I desire 
and labor to accomplish it.” 

From Porpora, Anzoleto went to the Corte Minelli. He 
found Consuelo’s apartment already surrendered to a new 
occupant, and encumbered with the materials of his la- 
bor. He was a worker in glass, long since installed in 
the house, and who transferred his workshop to her room 
with much glee. 

“Ah, ha! it is you, my boy?” said he to the young 
tenor; “you have come, to see me in my new shop? I 
shall do very well here, and my wife is very glad that she 
can lodge all the children below. What are you looking 
for ? Did little Consuelo forget any thing ? Look, my 
child, search; it will not annoy me.” 

“ Where have they put her furniture?” said Anzoleto, 
agitated and struck with despair at not finding any vestige 
of Consuelo in this place which had been consecrated to 
the purest enjoyments of his life. 

“ The furniture is below in the court ; she made a 
present of it to mother Agatha, and she did well. The 
old woman is poor, and will make a little money out of it. 
Oh! Consuelo always had a good heart. She has not left 
a farthing of debt in the Corte, and she made a small 
present to every body when she went away. She merely 
took her crucifix with her. But it was very odd her go- 
ing off in the middle of the night without telling any one! 
Master Porpora came this morning to arrange all her af- 
fairs; it was like the execution of a will. It grieved all 
the neighbors: but they consoled themselves at last with 
the thought that she is no doubt going to live in a fine 
palace on the canalazzo, now that she is rich and a great 
lady. As for me, I always said she would make a fortune 
with her voice, she worked so hard. And when will the 
wedding be, Anzoleto? I hope that you will buy some- 
thing from me to make presents to all the young girls of 
the quarter,” 


C0N8VEL0. 


121 


^^Yes, yes/^ replied Anzoleto wildly. He fled with 
death in his soul, and saw in the court all the gossips of 
the place holding an auction of Consuelo’s bed and table — 
that bed on which he had seen her sleep, that table at 
which he had seen her work ! Oh, Heavens ! already 
nothing left of her!” cried he involuntarily, wringing his 
hands. He felt almost tempted to go and stab Gorilla. 

After an interval of three days he reappeared on the 
stage with Gorilla. They were both outrageously hissed, 
and the curtain had to be lowered before the piece was 
finished. Anzoleto was furious. Gorilla perfectly uncon- 
cerned. This is what your protection procures me,” 
said he, in a threatening tone, as soon as he was alone with 
her. The pripia donna answered him with great coolness: 

You are affected by trifles, my poor child ; it is easily 
seen that you know little of the public, and have never 
borne the brunt of its caprices. I was so well prepared 
for the reverse of this evening, that I did not even take 
the pains to look over my part; and if I did not tell you 
what was to happen, it was because I knew very well you 
would not have had courage enough to enter upon the 
stage with the certainty of being hissed. Now, however, 
you must know what you have to expect. The next time 
we shall be treated even worse. Three, four, six, eight 
representations perhaps, will pass thus; but during these 
storms an opposition will manifest itself in our favor. 
Were we the most stupid blockheads in the world, the 
spirit of contradiction and independence would raise up 
partisans for us, who will become more and more zealous. 
There are so many people who think to elevate themselves 
by abusing others, that there are not wanting those who 
think to do the same by protecting them. After a dozen 
trials, during which the theater will be a field of battle 
between the hissers and the applauders, our opponents will 
be fatigued, the refractory will look sour, and we shall 
enter upon a new phase. That portion of the public which 
has sustained us, without well knowing why, will hear us 
coldly; it will be like a new debut for us, and then it will 
depend upon ourselves, thank Heaven! to subdue the au- 
dience and remain masters of them. I predict great suc- 
cess for you from that moment, dear Anzoleto ; the spell 
which has hitherto weighed you down will be removed. 
You will breathe an atmosphere of encouragement and 


CONSUELO. 


in 

sweet praises, wliicli will restore your powers. Remember 
the etfect which you produced at Zustiiiianrs the first time 
you were heard there. You had not time to complete your 
conquest — a * more brilliant star came too soon to eclipse 
you; but that star has allowed itself to sink below the hori- 
zon, and you must be prepared to ascend with me into the 
empyrean. 

Every thing happened as Gorilla had predicted. The two 
lovers had certainly to pay dearly, during some days, for 
the loss the public had sustained in the person of Con- 
suelo. But their constancy in braving the tempest wearied 
out an anger which was too excessive to be lasting. Zusti- 
niani encouraged Gorilla’s efforts. As for Anzoleto, the 
count, after having made vain attempts to draw a primo 
uomo to Venice at so advanced a season, when all the en- 
gagements were already made with the principal theaters 
in Europe, made up his mind, and accepted him for his 
champion in the struggle which was going on between the 
public and the administration of his theater. That thea- 
ter had a reputation too brilliant to be periled by the loss 
of one performer. Nothing like this could overcome fixed 
habits. All the boxes were let for the season, and the 
ladies held their levees there, and met as usual. The real 
dilettanti kept up their dissatisfaction for a time, but they 
were too few in number to be cared for. Besides, they 
were at last tired of their own animosity, and one fine even- 
ing, Gorilla, having sung with power, was unanimously 
recalled. She reappeared, leading with her Anzoleto, 
who had not been called for, and who seemed to 
yield to a gentle violence with a modest and timid air. 
He received his share of the applauses, and was re- 
engaged the next day. In short, before a month had 
passed, Gonsuelo was as much forgotten as is the lightning 
which shoots athwart a summer sky. Gorilla excited en- 
thusiasm as formerly, and perhaps merited it more ; for 
emulation had given her more earnestness, and love some- 
times inspired her with more feeling and expression. As 
for Anzoleto, though he had not overcome his defects, he 
had succeeded in displaying his incontestible good quali- 
ties. They had become accustomed to the first and ad- 
mired the last. His charming person fascinated the 
women, and he was much sought after for the saloons, the 
more so because Gorilla’s jealousy increased the piquancy 


00N8UEL0. 


123 


of coquetting with him. Clorinda also developed her 
powers upon the stage ; that is to say, her heavy beauty 
and the easy nonchalance of unequaled dulness, which 
was not without its attraction for a portion of the specta- 
tors. Zustiniani, partly to relieve his mind after his deep 
disappointment, covered her with jewels, and pushed her 
forward in the first parts, hoping to make her succeed 
Gorilla, who was positively engaged at Paris for the coming 
season. 

Gorilla saw without vexation this competition, from 
which she had nothing to fear either present or future : 
she even took a malicious pleasure in bringing out that 
cool and impudent incapacity which recoiled before noth- 
ing. These two creatures lived therefore in a good un- 
derstanding and governed the administration imperiously. 
They put aside every serious piece, and revenged them- 
selves upon Porpora by refusing his operas, to accept and 
bring forward tliose of his most unworthy rivals. They 
agreed together to injure all who displeased them, and to 
protect all who humbled themselves before their power. 
During that season, thanks to them, the public applauded 
the compositions of the decadence, and forgot that true 
and grand music had formerly flourished in Venice. 

In the midst of his success and prosperity (for the count 
had given him a very advantageous engagement) An- 
zoleto was overwhelmed with profound disgust, and 
drooped under the weight of a melancholy happiness. It 
was pitiful to see him drag himself to the rehearsals hang- 
ing on the arm of the triumphant Gorilla, pale, languish- 
ing, handsome as Apollo, but ridicuously foppish in his 
appearance, like a man wearied of admiration, crushed and 
destroyed under the laurels and myrtles he had so easily 
and so largely gathered. Even at the performances, when 
upon the stage with Gorilla, he yielded to the necessity he 
felt of protesting against her by his superb attitude and 
his impertinent languor. While she devoured him with 
her eyes, he seemed by his looks to say to the audience: 
^"Do not think that I respond to so much love! On the 
contrary, whoever will deliver me from it will do me a 
great service.''^ 

The fact was that Anzoleto, spoiled and corrupted by 
Gorilla, turned against her the instincts of selfishness and 
ingratitude which she had excited in his heart against the 


124 


CONSUELO. 


whole world. There remained to him but one sentiment 
which was true and pure in its nature ; the imperishable 
love which, in spite of his vices, he cherished for Ooiisuelo. 
He could divert his attention from it, thanks to his natural 
frivolity ; but he could not cure himself of it, and that 
love haunted him like remorse, like a torture, in the 
midst of his most culpable excesses. In the midst of 
them all, a specter seemed to dog his steps; and deep- 
drawn sighs escaped from his breast when in the middle 
of the night he passed in his gondola along the dark 
buildings of the Corte Minelli. Gorilla, for a long time 
subdued by his bad treatment, and led, as all mean souls 
are, to love only in proportion to the contempt and out- 
rages she received, began at last to be tired of this fatal 
passion. She had flattered herself that she could conquer 
and enchain his savage independence. She had worked 
for that end with a violent earnestness, and she had sacri- 
ficed every thing to it. When she felt and acknowledged 
the impossibility of ever succeeding, she began to hate 
him, and to search for distractions and revenge. One 
night when Anzoleto was wandering in his gondola about 
Venice with Clorinda, he saw another gondola rapidly 
glide off, whose extinguished lantern gave notice of some 
clandestine rendezvous. He paid little attention to it ; 
but Clorinda, who, in her fear of being discovered, was 
always on the look-out, said to him, ‘'Let us go more 
slowly. It is the count^s gondola ; I recognise the gon- 
dolier.” 

“ In that case we will go more quickly,” replied An- 
zoleto; “I wish to rejoin him, and to know with whom he 
is enjoying this fresh and balmy evening.” 

“ No, no ; let us return,” cried Clorinda. “ His eye is 
so piercing and his ear so quick. We must be careful not 
to annoy him.” 

“ Eow, I say!” cried Anzoleto, to his gondolier; “I wish 
to overtake that bark which you see before us.” 

Notwithstanding Clorinda's prayers and terror, this was 
the work of but an instant. The two barks grazed each 
other, and Anzoleto heard a half-stifled burst of laughter 
proceed from the other gondola. “Ha!” said he, “this 
is fair play— it is Gorilla who is taking the air Avith the 
signor count.” So saying, Anzoleto leaped to the bow of 
his gondola, took the oar from the hands of the bacarole, 


CONSUELO. 


125 


and following the other gondola rapidly, overtook it and 
grazed it a second time, exclaiming aloud as he passed. 

Dear Olorinda, you are without contradiction the most 
beautiful and the most beloved of all women.” 

‘‘I was just saying as much to Gorilla,” immediately re- 
plied the count, coming out of his cabin and approaching 
the other bark with consummate self-possession; ^^and 
now that our excursions on both sides are finished, I pro- 
pose that we make an exchange of partners.” 

The signor count only does justice to my loyalty,” re- 
plied Anzoleto in the same tone. ‘‘If he permit me, I 
will offer him my arm, that he may himself escort the fair 
Clorinda into his gondola.” 

The count reached out his arm to rest upon Anzoleto^s; 
but the tenor, inflamed by hatred, and transported with 
rage, leaped with all his weight upon the count’s gondola 
and upset it, crying with a savage voice: “ Signor Count, 
gondola for gondolal^’ Then abandoning his victims to 
their fate, and leaving Clorinda speechless with terrc)f and 
trembling for the consequences of his frantic conduct, he 
gained the opposite bank by swimming, took his course 
through the dark and tortuous streets, entered his lodging, 
changed his clothes in a twinkling, gathered together all 
the money he had, left the house, threw himself into the 
first shallop which was getting under way for Trieste, and 
snapped his fingers in triumph as he saw, in the dawn of 
morning, the clock-towers and domes of Venice sink be- 
neath the waves. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Ik the western range of the Carpathian mountains, 
which separate Bohemia from Bavaria, and which receives 
in these countries the name of the Boehmer Wald, there 
was still standing, about a century ago, an old country seat 
of immense extent, called, in consequence of some for- 
gotten tradition, the Castle of the Giants. Though pre- 
senting at a distance somewhat the appearance of an an- 
cient fortress, it was no more than a private residence, 
furnished in the taste, then somewhat antiquated but 
always rich and sumptuous, of Louis XIV. ^ The feudal 
style of architecture had also undergone various tasteful 


126 


aONSUBLO. 


modifications in the parts of the edifice occupied by the 
Lords of Kiidolstadt, masters of this rich domain. 

The family was of Bohemian origin, but had become 
naturalized in Germany on its members changing their 
name, and abjuring the principles of the Reformation, at 
the most trying period of the Thirty Years’ War. A noble 
and valiant ancestor, of indexible Protestant principles, 
had been murdered on the mountain in the neighborhood 
of his castle, by the fanatic soldiery. His widow, who was 
of a Saxon family, saved the fortune and the life of her 
young children by declaring herself a Catholic, and en- 
trusting to. the Jesuits the education of the heirs of Rudol- 
stadt. After two generations had passed away, Bohemia 
being silent and oppressed, the Austrian power permanently 
established, and the glory and misfortunes of the Reforma- 
tion at last apparently forgotten, the Lords of Rudolstadt 
peacefully practiced the Christian virtues, professed the 
Romish faith, and dwelt on their estates in unostentatious 
state, *like good aristocrats and faithful servants of Maria ' 
Theresa. They had formerly displayed their bravery, in 
the service of their emperor Charles VI ; but it was 
strange that young Albert, the last of this illustrious and- 
powerful race, and the only son of Count Christian 
Rudolstadt, had never borne arms in the War of Succes- 
sion, which had just terminated; and that he had reached 
his thirtieth year without having sought any other dis- 
tinction than what he inherited from his birth and fortune. 
This unusual course had inspired his sovereign with sus- 
picion of collusion with her enemies; but Count Christian, 
having had the honor to receive the empress in his castle, 
had given such reasons for the conduct of his son as 
seemed to satisfy her. Nothing, however, had transpired 
of the conversation between Maria Theresa and Count 
Rudolstadt. A strange mystery reigned in the bosom of 
this devout and beneficent family, which for ten years a 
neighbor had seldom visited; which no business, no pleas- 
ure, no political agitation, induced to leave their domains; 
which paid largely and without a murmur all the sub- 
sidies required for the war, displaying no uneasiness in the 
midst of public danger and misfortune ; which in fine 
seemed not to live after the same fashion as the other 
nobles, who viewed them with distrust, although knowing 
nothing of them but their praiseworthy deeds and noble 


CONSUELO. 


127 


conduct. At a loss to what to attribute this unsocial and 
retired mode of life, they accused the Eudolstadts some- 
times of avarice, sometimes of misanthropy; but as their 
actions uniformly contradicted these imputations, their 
maligners were at length obliged to confine their re- 
proaches to their apathy and indifference. They asserted 
that Count Christian did not wish to expose the life of his 
son — the last of his race — in these disastrous wars, and 
that the empress had, in exchange for his services, ac- 
cepted a sum of money sufficient to equip a regiment of 
hussars. The ladies of rank who had marriageable daugh- 
ters admitted that Count Christian had done well; but 
when they learned the determination that he seemed to 
entertain of providing a wife for his son in his own family, 
in the daughter of the Baron Frederick, his brother — 
when they understood that the young Baroness Amelia had 
just quitted the convent at Prague where she had been 
educated, to reside henceforth with her cousin in the 
Castle of the Giants — these noble dames unanimously pro- 
nounced the family of Kudolstadt to be a den of wolves, 
each of whom was more unsocial and savage than the 
others. A few devoted servants and faithful friends alone 
knew the secret of the family, and kept it strictly. 

This noble family was assembled one evening round a 
table profusely loaded with game, and those substantial 
dishes with which our ancestors in Slavonic states still con- 
tinued to regale themselves at this period, notwithstanding 
the refinements which the court of Loiys XV had intro- 
duced into the aristocratic customs of a great part of 
Europe. An immense hearth on which burned huge 
billets of oak, diffused heat throughout the large and 
gloomy hall. Count Christian in a loud voice had just 
said grace, to which the other members of the family 
listened standing. Numerous aged and grave domestics, 
in the costume of the country — viz. large mameluke 
trousers, and long mustachios — moved slowly to and fro in 
attendance on their honored masters. The chaplain of the 
castle was seated on the right of the count, the young 
Baroness Amelia on his left — next his heart,” as he was 
wont to say with austere and paternal gallantry. The 
Baron Frederick, his junior brother, whom he always 
called his young brother,” from his not being more than 
sixty years old, was seated opposite. The Canoness Wen- 


128 


CONSUELO. 


ceslawa of Kudolstadt, his eldest sister, a venerable lady of 
seventy, afflicted with an enormous hump and a frightful 
leanness, took her place at the upper end of the table ; 
while Count Albert, the son of Count Christian, the be- 
trothed of Amelia, and the last of the Rudolstadts, came 
forward, pale and melancholy, to seat himself on the other 
end, opposite his noble aunt. 

Of all these silent personages, Albert was certainly the 
one least disposed and least accustomed to impart animation 
to the others. The chaplain was so devoted to his masters, 
and so reverential toward the head of the family in 
particular, that he never opened his mouth to speak unless 
encouraged to do so by a look from Count Christian; and 
the latter was of so calm and reserved a disposition, that 
he seldom required to seek from others a relief from his 
own thoughts. 

Baron Frederick was of a less thoughtful character and 
more active temperament, but he was by no means remark- 
able for animation. Although mild and benevolent as his 
eldest brother, he had less intelligence and less enthusiasm. 
His devotion was a matter of custom and politeness. His 
only passion was a love for the chase, in which he spent 
almost all his time, going out each morning and returning 
each evening, ruddy with exercise, out of breath, and 
hungry. He ate for ten, drank for thirty, and even 
showed some sparks of animation when relating how his 
dog Sapphire had started the hare, how Panther had un- 
kenneled the wolf, or how his falcon Attila had taken 
flight; and when the company had listened to all this with 
inexhaustible patience, he dozed over quietly near the Are 
in a great black leathern arm-chair, and enjoyed his nap 
until his daughter came to warn him that the hour for 
retiring was about to strike. 

The canoness was the most conversable of tho party. 
She might even be called chatty, for she discussed with 
the chaplain, two or three times a week, for an hour at a 
stretch, sundry knotty points touching the genealogy of 
Bohemian, Hungarian, and Saxon families, the names and 
biographies of whom, from kings down to simple gentle- 
men, she had on her finger ends. 

As for Count Albert, there was something repelling and 
solemn in his exterior, as if each of his gestures had been 
prophetic, each of his sentences oracular to the rest of the 


CONSUELO. 


129 


family. By a singular peculiarity inexplicable to any one 
not acquainted with the secret of the mansion, as soon as 
he opened his lips, which did not happen once in twenty- 
four hours, the eyes of his friends and domestics were 
turned upon him; and there was apparent on every face a 
deep anxiety, a painful and affectionate solicitude; always 
excepting that of the young Amelia, who listened to him 
with a sort of ironical impatience, and who alone ventul’ed 
to reply, with the gay or sarcastic familiarity which her 
fancy prompted. 

This young girl, exquisitely fair, of a blooming com- 
plexion, lively, and well formed, was a little pearl of 
beauty; and when her waiting-maid told her so, in order 
to console her for her cheerless mode of life, ‘‘AlasT^ the 
young girl would reply, am a pearl shut up in an 
oyster of which this frightful Castle of tlie Giants is the 
shell.” This will serve to show the reader what sort of 
petulant bird was shut up in so gloomy a cage. 

On this evening the solemn silence which weighed down 
the family, particularly during the first course (for the 
two old gentlemen, the canoness, and the chaplain, were 
possessed of a solidity and regularity of appetite which 
never failed) was interrupted by Count Albert. 

What frightful weather!” said he, with a profound 

Every one looked at him with surprise ; for if the 
weather had become gloomy and threatening during the 
hour they had been shut up in the interior of the castle, 
nobody could have perceived it, since the thick shutters 
were closed. Every thing was calm without and within, 
and nothing announced an approaching tempest. 

Nobody, however, ventured to contradict Albert; and 
Amelia contented herself with shrugging her shoulders, 
while the clatter of knives and forks, and the removal of 
the dishes by the servants, proceeded, after a moments 
interruption, as before. 

‘‘ Do not you hear the wind roaring amid the pines of 
the Boehmer Wald, and the voice of the torrent sounding 
in your ears?” continued Albert in a louder voice, and 
with a fixbd gaze at his father. 

Count Christian was silent. The baron, in his quiet 
way, replied, without removing his eyes from his venison, 
which he hewed with athletic hand as if it had been a 


130 


GONSUELO. 


lump of granite: Yes, we had wind and rain together at 
sunset, and I should not be surprised were the weather to 
change to-rnorrow/^ 

Albert smiled in his strange manner, and every thing 
again became still; but five minutes had hardly elapsed 
when a furious blast shook the lofty casements, howled 
wildly around the old walls, lashing the waters of the 
moat as with a whip, and died away on the mountain tops 
with a sound so plaintive, that every face, with the 
exception of Count Albert’s, who again smiled with the 
same indefinable expression, grew pale. 

^^At this very instant,” said he, the storm drives a 
stranger toward our castle. You would do well. Sir 
Chaplain, to pray for those who travel beneath the tempest 
amid these rude mountains.” 

I hourly pray from my very soul,” replied the trembling 
chaplain, ^^for those who are cast on the rude paths of life 
amid the tempest of human passions.” 

^'Do not reply, Mr. Chaplain,” said Amelia, without 
regarding the looks or signs which warned her on every 
side not to continue the conversation. You know very 
well that my cousin likes to torment people with his 
enigmas. For my part I never think of finding them 
out.” 

Count Albert paid no more attention to the railleries of 
his cousin than she appeared to pay to his discourse. He 
leaned an elbow on his plate, which almost always re- 
mained empty and unused before him, and fixed his eyes 
on the damask table-cloth, as if making a calculation of 
the ornaments on the pattern, though all the while 
absorbed in a reverie. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A FURIOUS tempest raged during the supper ; which 
meal lasted just two hours, neither more nor less, even on 
fast-days, which were religiously observed but which never 
prevented the count from indulging his customary habits, 
no less sacred to him than the usages of tlm Romish 
Church. Storms were too frequent in these mountains, 
and the immense forests which then covered their sides 
imparted to the echoes a character too well known to the 


CONSUELO. 


131 


inhabitants of the castle, to occasion them even a passing 
emotion. Nevertheless, the unusual agitation of Count 
Albert communicated itself to the rest of the family, and 
the baron, disturbed in the usual current of his reflections, 
might have evinced some dissatisfaction, had it been pos- 
sible for his imperturbable placidity to be for a moment 
ruffled. He contented himself with sighing deeply, when 
a frightful peal of thunder, occurring with the second 
remove, caused the carver to miss the choice morsel of a 
boar’s ham which he was just then engaged in detaching. 

It cannot be helped,” said the baron, directing a com- 
passionate smile towards the poor carver, who was quite 
downcast with his mishap. 

^^Yes, uncle, you are right,” exclaimed Count Albert in 
a loud voice and rising to his feet ; it cannot be helped. 
The Hussite is down ; the lightning consumes it ; spring 
will revisit its foliage no more!” 

^MVhat say you, my son?” asked the old count, in a 
melancholy tone. ^^Do you speak of the huge oak of the 
Schreckenstein ?”* 

Yes, father ; I speak of the great oak to whose branches 
we hung up some twenty monks the other day.” 

He mistakes centuries for weeks just now,” said the 
canoness in a low voice, while she made the sign of the 
cross. My dear child,” she continued, turning to her 
nephew, '‘if you have really seen what has happened, or 
what is about to happen, in a dream, as has more than 
once been the case, this miserable withered oak, consider- 
ing the sad recollections associated with the rock it shaded, 
will be no great loss.” 

" As for me,” exclaimed Amelia, " I am delighted that 
the storm has rid us of that gibbet, with its long, frightful 
skeleton arms, and its red trunk which seemed to ooze out 
blood. I never passed beneath it when the breeze of even- 
ing moved amid its foliage, without hearing sighs as if of 
agony, and commending my soul to God while I turned 
away and fled.” 

" Amelia,” replied the count, who just now appeared to 
hear her words for the flrst time perhaps for days, "you 
did well not to remain beneath the Hussite as I did for 


* “Stone of Terror,” — a name not unfrequently used in tliese 
regions. 


132 


CONSUELO. 


hours,, and even entire nights. You would have seen and 
heard things which would have chilled you with terror and 
never have left your memory.” 

Pray, be silent,” cried the young baroness, starting 
and moving from the table where Albert was leaning : ‘‘I 
cannot imagine what pleasure you take in terrifying others 
every time you open your lips.” 

Would to Heaven, dear Amelia,” said the old baron, 
mildly, “ it were indeed but an amusement which your 
cousin takes in uttering such things.” 

‘^No, my father ; I speak in all seriousness. The oak 
of the Stone of Terror is overthrown, cleft in pieces. You 
may send the wood-cutters to-morrow to remove it. I 
shall plant a cypress in its place, which I shall name, not 
the Hussite, but the Penitent, and the Stone of Terror 
shall be called the Stone of Expiation.” 

‘‘Enough, enough, my son!” exclaimed the agonized 
old man. “ Banish these melancholy images, and leave it 
to God to judge the actions of men.” 

“ They have disappeared, father — annihilated, with the 
implements of torture which the breath of the storm and 
the fire of heaven have scattered in the dust. In place of 
pendent skeletons, fruits and flowers rock themselves amid 
the zephyrs on the new branches, and in place of the man 
in black who nightly lit up the flames beside the stake, I 
see a pure celestial soul which hovers over my head and 
yours. Tlie storm is gone, the danger over : those who 
traveled are in shelter • my soul is in peace, the period of 
expiation draws nigh, and I am about to be born again.” 

“May what you say, 0 well-beloved child, prove true!” 
said Christian, with extreme tenderness; “and may you 
be freed from the phantoms which trouble your repose! 
Heaven grant me this blessing, and restore peace, and 
hope, and light to my son!” 

Before the old man had finished speaking, Albert leaned 
forward, and appeared to fall into a tranquil slumber. 

“ What means this?” broke in the young baroness ; 
“ what do I see? — Albert sleeping at table? Very gallant, 
truly!” 

“ This deep and .sudden sleep,” said the chaplain, sur- 
veying the young man with intense interest, “ is a favor- 
able crisis, which leads me to look forward to a happy 
change, for a time at least, in his situation.” 


CONSUELO, 


133 


Let no one speak to him, or attempt to rouse him,” 
exclaimed Count Christian. 

“Merciful Heaven,” prayed the canoness, with clasped 
hands, “realize this prediction, and let his thirtieth year 
be that of his recovery !” 

“ Amen 1” added the chaplain, devoutly. “ Let us raise 
our hearts with thanks to the God of Mercy for the food 
which he has given us, and entreat him to deliver this 
noble youth, the object of so much solicitude.” 

They rose for grace, and every one remained standing, 
absorbed in prayer for the last of the Eiidolstadts. As for the 
old count, tears streamed down his withered cheeks. lie 
then gave orders to his faithful servants to convey his son 
to his apartment, when Baron Frederick, considering how 
he could best display his devotion toward his nephew, ob- 
served with childish satisfaction: “Dear brother, a good 
idea has occurred to me. If your son awakens in the 
seclusion of his chamber, while digestion is going on, bad 
dreams may assail him. Bring him to the saloon, and 
place him in my large arm-chair. It is the best one for 
sleeping in in the whole house. He will be better there 
than in bed, and when he awakens he will find a good fire 
and friends to cheer his heart.” 

“ You are right, brother replied Christian, “ let us 
bear him to the saloon and place him on the large sofa.” 

“ It is wrong to sleep lying, after dinner,” continued the 
baron; “I believe, brother, that I am aware of that from 
experience. Let him have my arm-chair — yes, my arm- 
chair is the thing.” 

Christian very well knew that were he to refuse his 
brothers offer, it would vex and annoy him; the young 
count was therefore propped up in the hunteFs leathern 
chair, but he remained quite insensible to the change, so 
sound was his sleep. The baron placed himself on another 
seat, and warming his legs before a fire worthy of the 
times of old, smiled with a triumphant air whenever the 
chaplain observed that Albert's repose would assuredly 
have happy results. The good soul proposed to give up 
his nap as well as his chair, and to join the family in watch- 
ing over the youth; but aHer some quarter of an hour, he 
was so much at ease that he began to snore after so lusty 
a fashion as to drown the last faint and now far distant 
gusts of the storm. 


134 


CONSUELO. 


The castle bell, which only rang on extraordinary occa- 
sions, was now heard, and old Hans, the head domestic, en- 
tered shortly afterward with a letter which he presented to 
Count Christian without saying a word. He then retired 
into an adjoining apartment to await his master^s com- 
mands. Christian opened the letter, cast his eye on the 
signature, and handed the paper to the young baroness, 
with a request that she would peruse the contents. Curious 
and excited, Amelia approached a candle, and read as 
follows: 

“Illustrious and well-beloved Lord Count, 

“Your Excellency has conferred on me the favor of asking a serv- 
ice at my hands. This indeed, is to confer a greater favor than all 
those which I have already received, and of which my heart fondly 
cherishes the remembrance. Despite my anxiety to execute your es- 
teemed orders, I did not hope to find so promptly and suitably the 
individual that was required; but favorable circumstances having 
concurred to an unforeseen extent in aiding me to fulfill the desires of 
your Highness, I hasten to send a young person who realizes, at least 
in part, the required conditions. I therefore send her only provis- 
ionally, that your amiable and illustrious niece may not too impa- 
tiently await a more satisfactory termination to my researches and 
proceedings. 

“The individual who has the honor to present this is my pu- 
pil, and in a measure my adopted child; she will prove, as the amia- 
ble baroness has desired, an agreeable and obliging companion, as 
well as a most competent musical instructress. In other respects, she 
does not possess the necessary information for a governess. She 
speaks several languages, though hardly sufficiently acquainted with 
them perhaps to teach them. Music she knows thoroughly, and she 
sings remarkably well. You will be pleased with her talents, her 
voice, her demeanor, and not less so with the sweetness and dignity 
of her character. Your Highness may admit her into your circle with- 
out risk of her infringing in any way on etiquette, or affording any 
evidence of low tastes . She wishes to remain free as regards your 
noble family, and therefore will accept no salary. In short, it is 
neither as a duenna nor as a servant, but as companion and friend to 
the amiable baroness, that she appears; just as that lady did me the 
honor to mention in the gracious post-scriptum which she added to 
your Excellency’s communication. 

‘ ‘ Signor Corner, who has been appointed ambassador to Austria, 
awaits the orders for his departure; but these he thinks will not ar- 
rive before two months. Signora Corner, his worthy spouse, and 
my generous pupil, would have me accompany them to Vienna, 
where she thinks I should enjoy a happier career. Without perhaps 
agreeing with her in this, I have acceded to her kind offers, desir- 
ous as I am to abandon Venice, where I have only experienced an- 
noyance, deception and reverses. I long to revisit the noble Ger- 
man land where I have seen so many happy days, and renew my in- 
timacy with the venerable friends I left there. Your Highness holds 


CONSUELO. 


135 


tlie first place in this old, wornout, yet not wholly chilled heart, 
since it is actuated by eternal affection and deepest gratitude. To 
you, therefore, illustrious signor, do I commend and confide my 
adoptive child, requesting on her behalf hospitality, protection and 
favor. She will repay your goodness by her zeal and attention to 
the young baroness. In three months I shall come for her, and offer 
in her place a teacher who may contract a more permanent engage- 
ment. 

“ Awaiting the day on which I may once more press the hand of 
one of the best of men, I presume to declare myself, with respect and 
pride, the most humble and devoted of the friends and servants of 
your Highness, chiarissima, stimatismna, illustrissima, 

“Nicholas Porpora, 

“ Chapel Master, Composer, and Professor of 
“ Vocal Music. 

“Venice, the of 17 — .” 

Amelia sprang up with joy on perusing this letter, while 
the old count, much affected, repeated — Worthy Por- 
pora! respectable man! excellent friend 

Certainly, certainly,” exclaimed the Canoness Wen- 
ceslawa, divided between the dread of deranging their 
family usages and the desire of displaying the duties of 
hospitality toward a stranger, ^^we must receive and treat 
her well, provided she do not become weary of us here.” 

‘^But, uncle, where is this precious mistress and future 
friend ?” exclaimed the young baroness, without attending 
to her aunPs reflections. Surely she will shortly be here 
in person. I await her with impatience.” 

Count Christian rang. Hans,” said he, by whom was 
this delivered ?” 

^‘By a lady, most gracious lord and* master.” 

^^Here already!” exclaimed Amelia. ‘‘Where? — oh 

where ?” 

“ In her post carriage at the drawbridge.” 

“And you have left her to perish outside, instead of in- 
troducing her at once ?” 

“ Yes, madam ; I took the letter, but forbade the 
postilion to slacken rein or take foot out of the stirrup. 
I also raised the bridge behind me until I should have de- 
livered the letter to my master.” 

“ But it is unpardonable, absurd, to make guests wait 
outside in such weather. Would not any one think we 
were in a fortress, and that we take every one who comes 
for an ene'my ? Speed away then, Hans.” 

Hans remained motionless as a statue. His eyes alone 


136 


C0K8UEL0. 


expressed regret that he could not obey tlie wishes of his 
young mistress ; but a cannon-ball whizzing past his ear 
would not have deranged by a bairns breath the impassive 
attitude with which he awaited the sovereign orders of his 
old master. 

The faithful Hans, my child, said the baron slowly, 

knows nothing but his duty and the word of command. 
Now then, Hans, open the gates and lower the bridge. 
Let every one light torches, and bid the stranger 
w'elcome.'’^ 

Hans evinced no surprise in being ordered to usher the 
unknown into a house where the nearest and best friends 
were only admitted after tedious precautions. The 
canoness proceeded to give directions for supper. Amelia 
would have set out for the drawbridge ; but her uncle, 
holding himself bound in honor to meet his guest there, 
offered his arm to his niece, and the impatient baroness 
was obliged to proceed majestically to the castle gate, 
where the wandering fugitive Consuelo had already 
alighted. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

DuRiNa the three months that had elapsed since the 
Baroness Amelia had taken it into her head to have a com- 
panion, less to instruct her than to solace her weariness, 
she had in fancy pictured to herself a hundred times the 
form and features of her future friend. Aware of PorpoiVs 
crusty humor, she feared he would send some severe and 
pedantic governess. She had therefore secretly written to 
him to say (as if her desires were not law to her doting 
relatives), that she would receive no one past twenty-five. 
On reading Porpora’s answ’er she was so transported with 
joy that she forthwith sketched in imagination a complete 
portrait of the young musician — the adopted child of the 
professor, young, and a Venetian — that is to say, in 
Amelia’s eyes, made expressly for herself, and after her 
own image. 

She was somewhat disconcerted, therefore, when, instead 
of the blooming, saucy girl that her fancy had drawn, she 
beheld a pale, melancholy, and embarrassed young person ; 
for, in addition to the profound grief with which her poor 


CONSUELO, 


137 


heart was overwhelmed, and the fatigue of a long and 
rapid journey, a fearful and almost fatal impression had 
been made on Oonsuelo^s mind by the vast pine forests 
tossed by the tempest, the dark night illuminated at in- 
tervals by livid flashes of lightning, and, above all, by the 
aspect of this grim castle, to which the bowlings of the 
baron’s kennel and the light of the torches borne by the 
servants lent a strange and ghastly effect. What a con- 
trast with the jirmanento lucido of Marcello — the har- 
monious silence of the nights at Venice — the confiding 
liberty of her former life, passed in the bosom of love and 
joyous poesy ! When the carriage had slowly passed over 
the drawbridge, which sounded hollow under the horses’ 
feet, and the portcullis fell with a startling clang, it 
seemed to her as if she had entered the portals of the 
‘‘Inferno” of Dante; and, seized with terror, she recom- 
mended her soul to God. 

Her countenance therefore showed symptoms of extreme 
agitation when she presented herself before her hosts ; and 
the aspect of Count Christian, his tall, wasted figure, 
worn at once by age and vexation, and dressed in his 
ancient costume, completed her dismay. She imagined 
she beheld the specter of some ancient nobleman of the 
middle ages; and looking upon every thing that surrounded 
her as a dream, she drew back, uttering an exclamation of 
terror. 

The old count, attributing her hesitation and paleness 
to the jolting of the carriage and the fatigue of the 
journey, offered his arm to assist her in mounting the 
steps, endeavoring at the same time to utter some kind and 
polite expressions. But the worthy man, on whom nature 
had bestowed a cold and reserved exterior, had become, 
during so long a period of absolute retirement, such a 
stranger to the usages and conventional courtesies of the 
world, that his timidity was redoubled ; and under a grave 
and severe aspect he concealed the hesitation and confusion 
of a child. The obligation which he considered himself 
under to speak Italian, a language which he had formerly 
known tolerably well but which he had almost forgotten, 
only added to his embarrassment; and he could merely 
stammer out a few words, which Consuelo heard with 
diflflculty, and which she took for the unknown and my-* 
sterious" language of the Shades. 


138 


C0N8UEL0. 


Amelia, who had intended to throw herself upon Con- 
suelo’s neck, and at once appropriate her to herself, had 
nothing to say — such is the reserve imparted, as if by con- 
tagion, even to the boldest natures, when the timidity of 
others seems to shun their advances. 

Oonsuelo was introduced into the great hall where they 
had, supped. The count, divided between the wish to do 
her honor and the fear of letting her see his son while 
buried in his morbid sleep, paused and hesitated, and Con- 
suelo, trembling and feeling her knees give way under her, 
sank into the nearest seat. 

Uncle,” said Amelia, seeing the embarrassment of the 
count, I think it would be better to receive the signora 
here. It is warmer than in the great saloon, and she must 
be frozen by the wintry wind of our mountains. I am 
grieved to see her so overcome with fatigue, and I am sure 
that she requires a good supper and a sound sleep much 
more than our ceremonies. Is it not true, my dear sig- 
nora?” added she, gaining courage enough to press 
gently with her plump and pretty fingers the powerless 
arm of Oonsuelo. 

Her lively voice, and the German accent with which she 
pronounced her Italian, reassured Oonsuelo. She raised 
her eyes to the charming countenance of the young bar- 
oness, and, looks once exchanged, reserve and timidity 
were alike banished. The traveler understood immedi- 
ately that this was her pupil, and that this enchanting 
face at least was not that of a specter. She gratefully re- 
ceived all the attentions offered her by Amelia, approached 
the fire, allowed her cloak to be taken off, accepted the 
offer of supper, although she was not the least hungry ; 
and more and more reassured by the kindness of her young 
hostess, she found at length the faculties of seeing, hear- 
ing, and replying. 

While the domestics served supper, the conversation 
naturally turned on Porpora, and Oonsuelo was delighted 
to hear the old count speak of him as his friend, his equal, 
almost as his superior. Then they talked of Consnelo’s 
journey, the route by which she had come, and the storm 
which must have terrified her. We are accustomed at 
Venice,” replied Oonsuelo, to tempests still more sudden 
^n-d- perilous; for in our gondolas, in passing from one 
part of the city to another, we are often .threatened with 


CONSUELO. 


139 


shipwreck even at our very thresholds. The water which 
serves us instead of paved streets, swells and foams like 
the waves of the sea, dashing our frail barks with such 
violence against the walls, that they are in danger of de- 
struction before we have time to land. .Nevertheless, 
although I have frequently witnessed sucli occurrences, 
and am not naturally very timid, I was more terrified this 
evening than I have ever been before, by the fall of a huge 
tree, uprooted by the tempest in the mountains and crash- 
ing across our path. The horses reared upright, while the 
postilion in terror exclaimed— ‘ It is the Tree of Misfor- 
tune! — it is the Hussite which has fallen T Can you ex- 
plain what that means. Signora Baronessa 

Neither the count nor Amelia attempted to reply to this 
question; they trembled while they looked at each other. 

My son was not deceived,'' said the old man! Strange! 
strange in truth!" 

And excited by his solicitude for Albert, he left the 
saloon to rejoin him, while Amelia, clasping her hands, 
murmured — There is magic here, and the devil in pres- 
ence bodily." 

These strange remarks reawakened the superstitious feel- 
ing which Consuelo had experienced on entering the 
castle of Eudolstadt. The sudden paleness of Amelia, the 
solemn silence of the old servants in their red liveries — 
whose square bulky figures and whose lack-luster eyes, 
w'hich their long servitude seemed to have deprived of all 
sense and expression, appeared each the counterpart of his 
neighbors — the immense hall wainscoted with black oak, 
whose gloom a chandelier loaded with lighted candles did 
not suffice to dissipate; the cries of the screech-owl, which 
had recommenced its flight round the castle, the storm 
being over; even the family portraits and the huge heads 
of stags and boars carved in relief on the wainscoting — 
all awakened emotions of a gloomy cast that she was un- 
able to shake off. The observations of the young baroness 
were not very cheering. ‘^My dear signora," said she, 
hastening to assist her, you must be prepared to meet 
here things strange, inexplicable, often unpleasant, some- 
times even frightful; true scenes of romance which no one 
would believe if you related them, and on which you must 
pledge your honor to be silent forever." 

While the baroness was thus speaking the door opened 


140 


CONSUELO, 


slowly, and the Oanoness Wenceslawa, with her hump, her 
angular figure, and severe attire, the effect of which was 
heightened by the decorations of her order which she 
never laid aside, entered the apartment with an air more 
affably majestic than she had ever worn since the period 
when the Empress Maria Theresa, returning from her ex- 
pedition to Hungary, had conferred on the castle the un- 
heard-of honor of taking there a glass of hippocras and an 
hour^s repose. She advanced toward Oonsuelo, and after 
a couple of courtesies and a harangue in German, which 
she had apparently learned by heart, proceeded to kiss her 
forehead. The poor girl, cold as marble, received what 
she considered a death salute, and murmured some inaudi- 
ble reply. 

When the canoness had returned to the saloon, for she 
saw that she rather frightened the stranger than otherwise, 
Amelia burst into laughter long and loud. 

‘‘ By my faith, said she to her companion, I dare 
swear you thought you saw the ghost of Queen Libussa ; 
but calm yourself; it is my aunt, the best and most tire- 
some of women.” 

Hardly had Oonsuelo recovered from this emotion when 
she heard the creaking of great Hungarian boots 
behind her. A heavy and measured step shook the 
floor, and a man with a face so massive, red, and 
square, that those of the servants appeared pale and aris- 
tocratic beside it, traversed the hall in profound silence, 
and went out by the great door which the valets respect- 
fully opened for him. Fresh agitation on the part of Oon- 
. suelo, fresh laughter on that of Amelia. 

This,” said she, is Baron Rudolstadt, the greatest 
hunter, the most unparalleled sleeper, and the best of 
fathers. His nap in the saloon is concluded. At nine he 
rises from his chair, without on that account awakening, 
walks across this hall without seeing or hearing any thing, 
retires to rest, and wakes with the dawn, alert, active, vig- 
orous as if he were still young, and bent on pursuing the 
chase anew with falcon, hound, and horse.” 

Hardly had she concluded when the chaplain passed. 
He was stout, short, and pale as a dropsical patient. A 
life of meditation does not suit the dull Slavonian tem- 
})erament, and the good man’s obesity was no criterion of 
vobui^t a profound bow to the ladies, 


CONSUELO. 


141 


spoke in an under tone to a servant, and disappeared in 
the track of the baron. Forthwith, old Hans and another 
of these automatons, which Consuelo could not distinguish, 
so closely did they resemble each other, took their way to 
the saloon. Consuelo, unable any longer even to appear 
to eat, followed them with her eyes. Hardly had they 
passed the door, when a new apparition, .more striking 
than all the rest, presented itself at the threshold. It was 
a youth of lofty stature, and admirable proportions, but 
with a countenance of corpse-like paleness. He was attired 
in black from head to foot, while a velvet cloak, trimmed 
with sable and held by tassels and clasps of gold, hung 
from his shoulders. Hair of ebon blackness fell in dis- 
order over his pale cheeks, which were further concealed 
by the curls of his glossy beard. He motioned away the 
servants who advanced to meet him, with an imperative 
gesture, before which they recoiled as if his gaze had fas- 
cinated them. Then he turned toward Count Christian 
who followed him. 

assure you, father, said he, in a sweet voice and 
winning accents, ^Hhat I have never felt so calm. Some- 
thing great is accomplished in my destiny, and the peace 
of Heaven has descended on our house.” 

May God grant it, my child !” exclaimed the old man, 
extending his hand to bless him. 

Tlie youth bent his head reverently under the hand of 
his father; then raising it with a mild and sweet expres- 
sion, he advanced to the center of the hall, smiled faintly, 
while he slightly touched the hand which Amelia held out 
to him, and looked earnestly at Consuelo for some seconds. 
Struck with involuntary respect, Consuelo saluted him 
with downcast eyes; but he did not return the salutation, 
and still continued to gaze on her. 

“ This is the young person,” said the canoness in Ger- 
man, whom ” But the young man interrupted her 

with a gesture which seemed to sa}^ ^^Do not speak to me, 
do not disturb my thoughts.” Then slowly turning away, 
without testifying either surprise or interest, he deliber- 
ately retired by the great door. 

You must excuse him, my dear young lady,” said the 
canoness; “ he ” 

I beg pardon, aunt, for interrupting you,” exclaimed 
Amelia; “ but you are speaking German, which the signora 
does not understand.” 


142 


CONSUELO. 


Pardon me, dear signora replied Consnelo, in Ital- 
ian; I have spoken many languages in my childhood, for 
I have traveled a good deal. I remember enough of Ger- 
man to understand it perfectly. I dare not yet attempt to 
speak it, but if you will be so good as to give me some les- 
sons, I hope to regain my knowledge of it in a few days.^’ 

I feel just in the same position,” replied the canoness, 
in German. ‘‘ I comprehend all the young lady says, yet 
could not speak her language.. Since she understands me, 
I may tell her that I hope she will pardon my nephew the 
rudeness of which he has been guilty in not saluting her, 
when I inform her that this young man has been seriously 
ill, and that after his fainting fit he is so weak that prob- 
ably he did not see her. Is not this so, brother ?” asked 
the good Wenceslawa, trembling at the falsehoods she had 
uttered, and seeking her pardon in the eyes of Count 
Christian. 

My dear sister,” replied the old man, it is generous 
in you to excuse my son. The signora, I trust, will not be 
too much surprised on learning certain particulars which 
we shall communicate to her to-morrow, with all the con- 
fidence which we ought to feel for a child of Porpora, and, 
I hope I may soon add, a friend of the family.” 

It was now the hour for retiring, and the habits of the 
establishment were so uniform, that if the two young 
girls had remained much longer at table, the servants 
would doubtless have removed the chairs and extinguished 
the lights, just as if they had not been there. Besides, 
Consuelo longed to retire, and the baroness conducted her 
to the elegant and comfortable apartment which had been 
set apart for her accommodation. 

I should like to have an hour’s chat with you,” said 
she, as soon as the canoness, who had done the honors of 
the apartment, had left the room. I long to make you 
acquainted with matters here, so as to enable you to put 
up with our eccentricities. But you are so tired that you 
must certainly wish, in preference, to repose.” 

“ Do not let that prevent you, signora,” replied Con- 
suelo; I am fatigued, it is true, but I feel so excited that 
I am sure I shall not close my eyes during the night. 
Therefore talk to me as much as you please, with this stip- 
ulation only, that it shall be in German. It will serve as 
a lesson for me; for I perceive that the Signor Count and 
the canoness as well, are not familiar with Italian.” 


GONSUBLO. 


143 


Let us make a bargain/^ said Amelia. You shall go 
to bed and rest yourself a little, while I throw on a dress- 
ing-gown and dismiss my waiting-maid. I shall then 
return, seat myself by your bed-side, and speak German so 
long as we can keep awake. Is it agreed 
“ With all my heart,” replied Oonsuelo. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Know, then, my dear,” said Amelia, when she had 
settled herself as aforesaid — but, now that I think of it, 
I do not know your name,” she added, smiling. It is 
time, however, to banish all ceremony between us; you 
will call me Amelia, while I shall call you ” 

^‘1 have a singular name, somewhat difficult to pro- 
nounce,” replied Consuelo. ‘‘ The excellent Porpora, 
when he sent me hither, requested me to assume his name, 
according to the custom which prevails among masters 
toward their favorite pupils. I share this privilege, there- 
fore, with the gfeat Huber, surnamed Porporina; but, in 
place of Porporina, please to call me simply Xina.” 

Let it be Xina, then, between ourselves,” said Amelia. 
'^Xow, listen, for I have a long story to tell yon; and if 
I do not go back a little into the history of the past, you 
will never understand what took place in this house to- 
day.” 

^^I am all attention,” replied the new Porporina. 

Of course, my dear Xina,” said the young baroness, 
^^you know something of the history of Bohemia.” 

^^Alas!” replied Oonsuelo, ‘^as my master must have 
informed you, I am very deficient in information. I know 
somewhat of the history of music, indeed; but as to that 
of Bohemia, or any other country, I know nothing.” 

In that case,” replied Amelia, I must tell you enough 
of it to render my story intelligible. Some three hundred 
years ago, the people among whom you now find yourself, 
were great, heroic, and unconquerable. They had, indeed, 
strange masters, and a religion which they did not very 
well understand, but which their rulers wished to impose 
by force. They were oppressed by hordes of monks, while 
a cruel and abandoned king insulted their dignity, and 


144 


CONSUBLO, 


crushed tlieir sympathies. But a secret fury and deep- 
seated hatred fermented below; the storm broke out; the 
strangers were expelled; religion was reformed; convents 
were pillaged -and razed to the ground; while the drunken 
Wenceslas was cast into prison, and deprived of his crown. 
The signal of the revolt had been the execution of John 
Huss and Jerome of Prague, two wise and courageous 
Bohemians, who wished to examine and throw light upon 
the mysteries of Catholicism, and whom a council cited, 
condemned, and burned, after having promised them safe 
conduct and freedom of discussion. This infamous trea- 
son was so grating to national honor, that a bloody war 
ravaged Bohemia, and a large portion of Germany, for 
many years. This exterminating war was called the war of 
the Hussites. Innumerable and dreadful crimes were com- 
mitted on both sides. The manners of the times were 
fierce and cruel over the whole earth. Party spirit and 
religious fanaticism rendered them still more dreadful; and 
Bohemia was the terror of Europe. I shall not shock your 
imagination, already unfavorably impressed by the appear- 
ance of this savage country, by reciting the horrible scenes 
which then took place. On the one side, it was nothing 
but murder, burnings, destructions; churches profaned, 
and monks and nuns mutilated, hung, and thrown into 
boiling pitch. On the other side, villages were destroyed, 
whole districts desolated, treasons, falsehoods, cruelties, 
abounded on every side. Hussites were cast by thousands 
into the mines, filling abysses with their dead bodies, and 
strewing the earth with their own bones and those of their 
enemies. These terrible Hussites were for a long time 
invincible; even yet their name is not mentioned without 
terror ; and yet their patriotism, their intrepid con- 
stancy, and incredible exploits, have bequeathed to us a 
secret feeling of pride and admiration, which young 
minds, such as mine, find it somewhat difficult to con- 
ceal."^ 

And why conceal it?” asked Consuelo, simply. 

It is because Bohemia has fallen back, after many 
struggles, under the yoke of slavery. Bohemia is no more, 
my poor Nina. Our masters were well aware that the 
religious liberty of our country was also its political free- 
dom; therefore they have stifled both.” 

See,” replied Consuelo, how ignorant lam! I never 


G0N8UEL0. 145 

heard of these tilings before, and I did not dream that 
men could be so unhappy and so wicked/' 

hundred years after John Huss, another wise man, 
a new sectarian, a poor monk called Martin Luther, sprang 
up to awaken the national spirit, and to inspire Bohemia, 
and all the independent provinces of Germany, with hatred 
of a foreign yoke and revolt against popedom. The most 
powerful kings remained Catholics, not so much for love of 
religion, as for love of absolute power. Austria united 
with them in order to overwhelm us, and a new war, called 
the Thirty Years' War, came to shake and destroy our 
national independence. From the commencement of 
this war, Bohemia was the prey of the strongest; Austria 
treated us as conquered; took from us our faith, our lib- 
erty, our language, and even our name. Our fathers re- 
sisted courageously, but the imperial yoke has weighed 
more and more heavily upon us. For the last hundred and 
twenty years, our nobility, ruined and decimated by exac- 
tions, wars, and torments, have been forced to expatriate 
themselves, or turn renegades by abjuring their origin, 
germanising their names (pay attention to this), and re- 
nouncing the liberty of professing their religious opin- 
ions. They have burned our books, destroyed our 
schools — in a word, made us Austrians. We are but a 
province of the empire, and you hear German spoken in a 
Slavonic state — that is saying enough." 

And you now suffer and blush for this slavery ? I 
understand you, and I already hate Austria with all my 
heart." 

Oh! speak low," exclaimed the young baroness. No 
one can, without danger, speak thus under the black sky 
of Bohemia; and in this castle there is but one person, my 
dear Nina, who would have the boldness or the folly to say 
what you have just said: that is my cousin Albert." 

‘Ms this, then, the cause of the sorrow which is im- 
printed on his countenance? I felt an involuntary sensa- 
tion of respect on looking at him." 

“ Ah, my fair lioness of St. Mark," said Amelia, sur- 
prised at the generous animation which suddenly lighted 
up the pale features of her companion; “you take matters 
too seriously. I fear that in a few days my poor cousin 
will inspire you rather with pity than with respect." 

“ The one need not prevent the other," replied Cousuelo^ 

but explaiu yourself, my dear barouess/^ 


146 


CONSUELO. 


Listen/^ said Amelia; we are a strictly Catholic 
family, faithful to church and state. We bear a Saxon 
name, and our ancestors, on the Saxon side, were always 
rigidly orthodox. Should my aunt, the canoness, some 
day undertake to relate, unhappily for you, the services 
which the counts and German barons have rendered to the 
holy cause, you will find that, according to her, there is 
not the slightest stain of heresy on our escutcheon. Even 
when Saxony was Protestant, the Rudolstadts preferred to 
abandon their Protestant electors, rather than the commu- 
nion of the Romish church. But my aunt takes care never 
to dilate on these things rn presence of Count Albert; if it 
were not for that, you should hear the most astonishing 
things that ever human ears have listened to.^’ 

You excite my curiosity without gratifying it. I un- 
derstand thus much, that I should not appear, before your 
noble relatives, to share your sympathy and that of Count 
Albert for old Bohemia. You may trust to my prudence, 
dear baroness; besides, 1 belong to a Catholic country, and 
the respect which I entertain for my religion, as well as 
that which 1 owe your family, would ensure my silence on 
every occasion.” 

It will be wise; for I warn you once again that we are 
terribly rigid upon that point. As to myself, dear Nina, I 
am a better compound — neither Protestant nor Catholic. 

I was educated by nuns, whose prayers and paternosters 
wearied me. The same weariness pursues me here, and my 
aunt Wenceslawa, in her own person, represents the ped- 
antry and superstition of a whole community. But I am 
too much imbued with the spirit of the age, to throw my- 
self, through contradiction, into the not less presumptuous 
controversies of the Lutherans: as for the Hussites, their 
history is so ancient tliat I have no more relish for it than 
for the glory of the Greeks and Romans. The French way 
of thinking is to my mind; and I do not believe there can 
be any other reason, philosophy, or civilization, than that- 
which is practiced in charming and delightful France, the 
writings of which I sometimes have a peep at in secret, 
and whose liberty, happiness, and pleasures, I behold from 
a distance, as in a dream, through the bars of my prison.” 

You each moment surprise me more,” said Consuelo, 
innocently. ^^Hovv does it come that just now you ap- 
peared full of heroism, in recalling the exploits of your 


CONSUELO. 


147 


ancient Bohemians? I believed you a Bohemian, and 
somewhat of a heretic.” 

I am more than heretic, and more than Bohemian,” 
replied Amelia, laughing; ‘‘ I am the least thing in life 
incredulous altogether; I hate and denounce every kind of 
despotism, spiritual or temporal ; in particular I protest 
against Austria, which of all old duennas is the most 
wrongheaded and devout.” 

And is Count Albert likewise incredulous?' Is he also 
imbued with French principles? In that case, you should 
suit each other wonderfully?”. 

Oh, we are the furthest in the world from suiting each 
other, and now, after all these necessary preambles, is the 
proper time to speak of him. 

“ Count Christian, my uncle, was childless by his first 
wife. Married again at the age of forty, he had five girls, 
who, as well as their mother, all died young, stricken with 
the same malad}^ — a continual pain, and a species of slow 
brain fever. This second wife was of pure Bohemian 
blood, and had beside great beauty and intelligence. I did 
not know her. You will see her portrait in the grand 
saloon, where she appears dressed in a bodice of precious 
stones and scarlet mantle. Albert resembles her wonder- 
fully. He is the sixth and last of her children, the only 
one who has attained the age of thirty; and this not with- 
out difficulty : for without apparently being ill, he has ex- 
perienced rude shocks and strange symptoms of disease of 
the brain, which still cause fear and dread as regards his 
life. Between ourselves, I do not think that he will long 
outlive this fatal period which his mother could not escape. 
Although born of a father already advanced in years, 
Albert is gifted with a strong constitution, but, as he him- 
self says, the malady is in his soul, and has ever been in- 
creasing. From his earliest infancy, his mind was filled 
with strange and superstitious notions. When he was four 
years old, he frequently fancied he saw his mother beside 
his cradle, although she was dead, and he had seen her 
buried. In the night he used to awake and converse with 
her, which terrified my aunt Wenceslawa so much that she 
always made several women sleep in his chamber near the 
child, while the chaplain used I do not know how much 
holy water, and said masses by the dozen, to oblige the 
specter to keep quiet. But it was of no avail, for the 


148 


CONSUELO. 


child, although he had not spoken of his apparitions for a 
long time, declared one day in confidence to his nurse, that 
he still saw his own dear mother ; but he would not tell, 
because Mr. Chaplain had said wicked words in the cham- 
ber to prevent her coming back. 

^‘He was a silent and serious child. They tried to 
amuse him ; they overwhelmed him with toys and play- 
things, but these only served for a long time to make him 
more sad. At last they resolved not to oppose the taste 
which he displayed for study, and in effect this passion 
being satisfied, imparted more animation to him, but only 
served to change his calm and languishing melancholy into 
a strange excitement, mingled with paroxysms of grief, the 
cause of which it was impossible to foresee or avert. For 
example, when he saw the poor, he melted into tears, 
stripped himself of his little wealth, even reproaching him- 
self that he had not more to bestow. If he saw a child 
beaten, or a peasant ill-used, he became so indignant 
that he would swoon away, or fall into convulsions for 
hours together. All this displayed a noble disposition and 
a generous heart; but the best qualities, pushed to extremes, 
become defective or absurd. Reason was not developed in 
young Albert in proportion to feeling and imagination. 
The study of history excited without enlightening him. 
When he learned the crimes and injustice of men, he felt 
an emotion like that of the barbarian monarch, who, list- 
ening to the history of ChrisCs passion and death, ex- 
claimed while he brandished his weapon, ^Ah! had I been 
there, I should have cut the wicked Jews into a thousand 
pieces r 

‘‘Albert could not deal with men as they have been and 
are. He thought Heaven unjust in not having created 
them all kind and compassionate like himself; he did not 
perceive that, from an excess of tenderness and virtue, he 
was on the point of becoming impious and misanthropic. 
He did not understand what he felt, and at eighteen was 
as unfit to live among men, and hold the place which his 
position demanded in society, as he was at six months old. 
If any person expressed in his presence a selfish thought, 
such as our poor world abounds with, and without which 
it could not exist, regardless of the rank of the person, or 
the feelings of the family toward him, he displayed imme- 
diately an invincible dislike to him, and nothing could in- 


COKSUELO. 


149 


diice him to make the least advance. He chose his society 
from among the most humble, and those most in disfavor 
with fortune and even nature. In the plays of his child- 
hood he only amused himself with the children of the poor, 
and especially with those whose stupidity or infirmities 
had inspired all others with disgust or weariness. This 
strange inclination, as you will soon perceive, has not 
abandoned him. 

‘‘As^ in the midst of these eccentricities he displayed 
much intelligence, a good memory, and a taste for the fine 
arts, his father and his good aunt Wenceslawa, who 
tenderly cherished him, had no cause to blush for him in 
society. They ascribed his peculiarities to his rustic 
habits; and when he was inclined to go too far, they took 
care to hide them under some pretext or other from those 
who might be offended by them. But in spite of his ad- 
mirable qualities and happy dispositions, the count and 
the canoness saw with terror this independent, and in 
many respects insensible nature, reject more and more the 
laws of polite society and the amenities and usages of the 
world. 

^^But as far as you have gone,” interrupted Consuelo, 

I see nothing of the unreasonableness of which you 
speak.” 

Oh,” replied Amelia, ^^that is because you are your- 
self, so far as I can see, of an open and generous disposi- 
tion. But perhaps you are tired of my chatter, and would 
wish to sleep?” 

‘^Not at all, my dear Baroness,” replied Consuelo. I 
entreat you to continue.” 

Amelia resumed her narrative in these words: 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“You say, dear Xina, that hitherto you discover noth- 
ing extravagant in the actions or manner of my poor 
cousin. I am about to give you better proofs of it. My 
uncle and aunt are without doubt the best Christians and 
the most charitable souls in the world. They liberally 
dispense alms to all around them, and it would be impos- 
sible to display less pomp or pride in the use of riches than 
do these worthy relatives of mine. Well, my cousin made 


150 


C0N8UEL0. 


the discovery that their manner of living was altogether 
opposed to the spirit of the Gospel. He wished that, after 
the example of the early Christians, they should sell all 
they had and become beggars, after having distributed the 
proceeds among the poor. If, restrained by the respect 
and love which he bore them, he did not exactly use words 
to this effect, he showed plainly what he thought, in bit- 
terly deploring the lot of the poor, who are only born to 
toil and suffer, while the rich live in luxury and idleness. 
When he had given away in charity all his pocket-money, 
it was in his estimation but as a drop of water in the sea, 
and he demanded yet larger sums, which they dared not 
refuse him, and which flowed through’ his hands as water. 
He has given so much, that you will no longer see a poor 
person in all the country which surrounds us, and 1 must 
add that we And our position nothing the better for it; in- 
asmuch as the wants and demands of the lower orders in- 
crease in proportion to the concessions made to them, and our 
good peasants, formerly so mild and humble, begin to give 
themselves airs, thanks to the prodigality and tine speeches 
of their young master. If we had not the power of the 
imperial government to rely upon, which affords us pro- 
tection on one hand, while it oppresses us on the other, I 
believe that, more especially since the succession of the 
Emperor Charles, our estates and castles might have been 
pillaged twenty times over by the bands of war-famished 
peasants which the inexhaustible benevolence of Albert, 
celebrated for thirty leagues round, has brought upon our 
backs. 

^^When Count Christian attempted to remonstrate 
with young Albert, telling him that to give all in one 
day was to deprive us of the means of giving any thing 
the next, ' Why, my beloved father,^ he replied, ^ have we 
not a roof to shelter us which will last longer than our- 
selves, while thousands of unfortunates have only the cold 
and inclement sky above their heads? Have we not each 
more clothes than would suffice for one of these ragged 
and shivering families? Do I not see daily upon our table 
more meats and good Hungarian wine than would suffice 
to refresh and comfort these poor beggars, exhausted with 
fatigue and hunger? Have we a right to refuse when we 
have so much more than we require? Are we even per- 
mitted to use what is necessary while others are in want? 
Has the law of Christ changed?^ 


C0N8UEL0. 


151 


What reply could the count, the canoness, and the 
chaplain, who had educated this young man in the austere 
principles of religion, make to these fine words? They 
were accordingly embarrassed when they found him take 
matters thus literally, and hold no terms with those exist- 
ing arrangements on which, as it appears to me, is founded 
the whole structure of society. 

It was another affair as regarded political matters. In 
Albert’s eyes, the social arrangements which permitted 
sovereigns, in conformity with their pride and vainglory, 
to destroy millions of men and ruin entire countries, were 
nothing less than monstrous. This intolerance in these 
respects might have entailed dangerous consequences, so 
that his relatives no longer ventured to bring him to 
Vienna, Prague, or any other city where his virtuous 
fanaticism might have proved fatal to him. They were 
not even certain as to his religious views ; but they knew 
that there was quite enough in his exalted notions to bring 
a heretic to the stake. He hated popes, inasmuch as 
these apostles of Jesus Christ leagued themselves with 
kings against the peace and majesty of the people. He 
blamed the luxury, worldly spirit, and ambition of bishops, 
abbes, and churchmen generally. He repeated sermons of 
Luther and John Huss to the poor chaplain, and in the 
meantime passed hours together prostrate on the chapel 
floor, plung.ed in ecstasies worthy of a saint. He observed 
fasts beyond the rigid prescriptions of the Church ; it was 
even said he wore a haircloth shirt ; and it required all his 
father’s influence and his aunt’s tenderness to induce him 
to renounce austerities which were only calculated to turn 
his head. 

When these wise and affectionate parents saw that he 
was in a fair way to dissipate his patrimony in a few years, 
and perhaps be thrown into prison as a rebel to the Holy 
Church and empire, they at last decided on making him 
travel, hoping that, by seeing men and the laws of nations, 
which are nearly the same all over the civilized world, he 
would become accustomed to live like them and with 
them. They therefore confided him to the care of a tutor, 
a subtle Jesuit, a man of the world and of tact, if there 
ever was one, who understood his part at once, and 
pledged himself in his conscience to undertake all that 
which they did not even dare to ask of him. To speak 


152 


CONSUELO, 


plainly, it was thought desirable to corrupt and blunt this 
untamed soul, and to form it to the social yoke, by infus- 
ing drop by drop the sweet and necessary poisons of am- 
bition, of vanity, of religious, political, and social indiffer- 
ence. Do not knit your brows, dear Porporina. My 
worthy uncle is a simple and upright man, who from his 
youth has taken all these things as he has found them, and, 
without hypocrisy and without examination, has learned 
how to reconcile tolerance and religion, the duties of a 
Christian and those of a noble. In a world and in an age 
where, for millions like ourselves, one man like Albert is 
found, he who keeps with the age and with the world, is a 
wise man, and he who wishes to go back two thousand 
years into the past, is a fool, who gives offense to his 
neighbors and converts nobody. 

Albert traveled for eight years. He visited Italy, 
France, England, Prussia, Poland, Kussia, and even the 
Turks, and returned through Hungary, Southern Ger- 
many, and Bavaria. He conducted himself most prudently 
during these long excursions, spending no more than the 
handsome income which his parents allowed him, writing 
to them numerous and affectionate letters, in which he 
spoke merely of what he saw, without making any pro- 
found observations upon any subject whatever, and with- 
out giving his tutor any cause for complaint or ingrati- 
tude. Having returned here about the beginning of last 
year, after the first salutations were over, he retired, as I 
was informed, to the chamber which his mother had for- 
merly occupied, remained shut up there several hours, and 
came out very pale to wander alone upon the mountain. 

During this time the abbe spoke confidentially with 
the Oanoness Wenceslawa and the' chaplain, who had re- 
quested him to give them full particulars respecting the 
physical and moral condition of the young count. ‘Count 
Albert,' said he, ‘ whether the effects of travel have pro- 
duced a complete change in his character, or whether, 
from what your lordships had related to me of his child- 
hood, I had formed a false idea of him, has shown himself 
to me, from the first day of our connection, just the same 
as you have seen him to-day — gentle, calm, forbearing, 
patient, and exquisitely polite. This amiable conduct has 
never varied for a single instant, and I should be the most 
unjust of men if I advanced a single complaint against 


CONSUELO. 


153 


him. Nothing of what I feared as to his extravagant 
expenses, his abruptness, his declamations, or his exalted 
asceticism, has happened. He has not even once requested 
to manage for himself the little fortune you confided to 
me, and has never expressed the least dissatisfaction with 
guardianship. It is true that I always anticipated his 
wishes, and that whenever I saw a poor man approach our 
carriage, I hastened to send him away satisfied, before he 
had even time to extend his hand. This method of pro- 
ceeding succeeded completely ; and I may observe, that as 
the spectacle of misery and infirmity has never saddened 
his lordship’s sight, he has not once seemed to remem- 
ber his old prepossessions on this point. I have never 
heard him find fault with any one, blame any custom, or 
express an unfavorable opinion respecting any institution! 
That ardent devotion, the excess of which you feared, has 
apparently given way to a regularity of conduct every way 
becoming a man of the world. He has seen the most 
brilliant courts and the highest society of Europe, without 
appearing either intoxicated or offended at any thing which 
met his eye. Everywhere he has been remarked for his 
beauty, his noble bearing, his unobtrusive politeness, 
and the good taste that distinguished his conversation, 
which was always well timed and appropriate. His habits 
have remained as pure as those of a well-educated young 
girl, and this without showing any prudery or bad taste. 
He has seen theaters, museums, and monuments; he has 
conversed calmly and judiciously upon the arts. In fact, 
I cannot in any way understand the uneasiness he has 
caused your lordships, having for my part never seen a 
more reasonable man. If there be any thing extraordinary 
about him, it is his prudence, his steadiness, and the entire 
absence of strong desires and passions, which I have never 
met with in a young man so advantageously endowed by 
nature, birth, and fortune.’ 

^^All this was in fact only a confirmation of the frequent 
letters which the abbe had written to the family; but they 
had always feared some exaggeration on his part, and 
were only really easy when they found that he could assert 
the moral restoration of my cousin, without fear of being 
contradicted by his conduct under the eyes of his parents. 
They loaded the abbe with presents and caresses, and 
waited with patience for Albert’s return from his walk. It 


154 


GONSUELO. 


lasted a long time, however; and when at last he arrived 
at supper hour, the}' were struck by his paleness and the 
gravity of his expression. In the first joyful moments of 
their meeting, his features had expressed a sweet and 
heartfelt satisfaction which were no longer to be found in 
them. They were astonished, and spoke of it anxiously 
in a low voice to the abbe. He looked at Albert, and 
turning with surprise to those who questioned him, ^ I see 
nothing extraordinary in the count’s face,’ said he; ^ he has 
the calm and dignified expression which I have always 
observed during the eight years I have had the honor to 
accompany him.’ 

Count Christian was satisfied with this answer. ' He 
left us still adorned with the roses of youth,’ said he to his 
sister, ^ and often, alas! the victim of a sort of internal 
fever which gave strength to his voice and brilliancy to his 
appearance; he returns embrowned by the sun of southern 
countries, somewhat worn by fatigue perhaps, and with 
that gravity of manner which becomes a full-grown man. 
Do you not think, my dear sister, that it is better so?’ 

think, with all this gravity, he looks very sad,’ 
replied my good aunt; * and I have never seen a young 
man of twenty-eight so phlegmatic, and with so little to 
say. He answers us merely in monosyllables.’ 

^The count has always been very sparing of his. words,’ 
replied the abbe. 

“ ^ He was not so formerly,’ said the canoness. ^ If he 
spent weeks together in silence and meditation, he had 
also his days of gaiety and even of eloquence.’ 

^I have never,’ returned the abbe, ^ seen him depart 
from the reserve which your ladyship remarks at this 
moment.’ 

^Were you better pleased when he talked too much, 
and said things which made us tremble?’ said Count 
Christian to his alarmed sister. ^ That is just the way 
with women.’ 

' ^ He was at least alive then,’ said she, ^ and now he 
looks like an inhabitant of the other world, who takes no 
part in the affairs of this one.’ 

‘ That is the unvarying character of the count,’ replied 
the abbe; ^he is reserved; he is a man who never communi- 
cates his impressions to others, and who, if I must speak 
tlie whole of what I think, is not much impressed by any 


CONSUELO. 


155 


external objects. Such is the case with cold, sensible, and 
reflective persons. He is so constituted; and I should fear 
that in seeking to excite him, the result would be to 
unhinge a mind so inimical to all action, and to all 
dangerous undertakings.' 

^‘‘Oh! I am certain such is not his true character!' 
cried the canoness. 

‘ Madam, I am sure, will overcome the prejudices she 
has formed against so rare an advantage.' 

‘ In fact, dear sister,' said the count, ^ I think that 
the abbe speaks very wisely. Has he not by his care and 
attention produced the result we so much desired? Has 
he not turned aside the misfortunes which we feared? 
Albert threatened to be a prodigy, a hair-brained 
enthusiast. He returns to us such as he should be, to 
merit the esteem, the confidence, and the consideration of 
his fellow-men.' 

‘^‘But as senseless as a musty volume,' said the 
canoness; ‘or perhaps prejudiced against all things, and 
disdaining whatever does not agree with his secret 
instincts. He does not even seem happy to see us, who 
expected him with so much impatience.' 

“ ‘The count was very impatient to return,' answered 
the abbe; ‘I could plainly perceive it, although he did not 
manifest it openly. He is so timid and reserved!' 

“ ‘ He is not naturally reserved,' replied she quickly. 
‘He was sometimes violent, and sometimes tender to 
excess. He often vexed me; but immediately when that 
was the case, he threw himself upon my bosom and I was 
disarmed.' 

“ ‘ With me,' said the abbe, ‘he has never had any fault 
to repair.' 

“ ‘ Believe me, sister, it is much better so,' said my 
uncle. 

“ ‘Alas,' said the canoness, ‘then he will always have 
that expression which terrifies me and oppresses my heart!' 

“ ‘It is the dignified and noble countenance which 
becomes a man of his rank,' replied the abbe. 

“ ‘ It is a countenance of stone!' cried the canoness. ‘He 
is the very image of my mother, not as I knew her, sensi- 
ble and benevolent, but as she is painted, motionless and 
frozen in her frame of oak.' 

“ ‘ I repeat to your ladyship,' said the abbe, ‘ that this 


156 


C0N8UEL0. 


has been Count Albert’s habitual expression for eight 
years.’ 

^ Alas! then, there have been eight mortal years dur- 
ing which he has not smiled on any one,’ said the 
good aunt, the tears flowing down her cheeks ; ‘ for 
during the last two hours that I have fixed my eyes upon 
him, I have not seen the slightest smile animate his closed 
and colorless lips. Ah! I am almost tempted to rush to- 
ward him, and press him to my heart, reproaching him with 
his indifference, and scolding him, as I used to do, to see 
if he will not as of old throw himself upon my neck with 
sobs.’ 

^ Beware of any such imprudence, my dear sister,’ said 
Count Christian, compelling her to turn away from Albert, 
whom she still looked at with moistened eyes. ‘ Do not 
hearken to the weakness of your loving heart ; we have 
proved sufficiently that excessive sensibility was the bane 
both of the life and strong reason of our child. By dis- 
tracting his thoughts, by removing him from every emo- 
tion, the abbe, conformably to our advice and that of the 
physicians, has succeeded in calming that agitated soul; do 
not now destroy his work, from the caprices of childish 
tenderness.’ 

The canoness yielded to these reasons, and tried to 
accustom herself to Albert’s frigid exterior, but she could 
not succeed, and frequently said to her brother privately, 
‘ You may say what you please, Christian, but I fear he 
has been stupified, by treating him not like a man, but 
like a sick child.’ 

When about to separate in the evening they embraced 
each other. Albert received his father’s blessing respect- 
fully, and when the canoness pressed him to her heart, he 
perceived that she trembled, and that her voice faltered. 
He began to tremble also, and tore himself quickly from 
her arms, as if a sharp sense of suffering had been awak- 
ened within him. 

^ You see, sister,’ said the count in a low voice, ^ he 
has long been accustomed to these emotions, and you have 
caused him pain.’ At the same time, uneasy and agitated 
himself, he followed his son with his eyes, to see if, in his 
manner toward the abbe, he could perceive any exclusive 
preference to that person. But Albert saluted his tutor 
with cold politeness. 


GONSUELO. 


157 


‘‘‘My son/ said the count, ‘I believe I have only 
fulfilled your intentions and satisfied your wishes by re- 
questing the abbe not to leave you, as he had already "pro- 
posed, and by obtaining from him a promise to remain 
with us as long as possible. I did not wish that the hap- 
piness of finding our family circle once more reassembled, 
should be poisoned by any regret on your part, and I hope 
that your respected friend will aid us in securing that hap- 
piness to you without any drawback.-’ 

“Albert answered only by a low bow, and at the same 
time a strange smile passed over his lips. 

“‘Alas!’ said the canoness, as soon as he had left the 
room. ‘Is that the smile he gives now?’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“Duking Albert’s absence, the count and the canoness 
had formed innumerable projects for the future welfare of 
their dear child, among which, that of marrying him occu- 
pied a prominent place. AVith his fine person, his illustri- 
ous name, and his still considerable fortune, Albert could 
have aspired to a connection with the noblest families in 
the kingdom. But in case his indolence and shy, retiring 
disposition should make him unwilling to bring himself 
forward and push his fortune in the world, they kept in 
reserve for him a young person of equally high birth with 
himself, since she was his cousin-germain, and bore the 
same name; she was not so rich, indeed, but was young, 
handsome, and an only daughter. This young person was 
Amelia, Baroness of Rudolstadt, your humble servant and 
new friend. 

“ ‘ She,’ said they, when conversing together by the fire- 
side, ‘ has as yet seen nobody. Brought up in a convent, 
she will be only too happy to exchange the cloister for a 
husband. She cannot hope for a better match; and as to 
the eccentricities of her cousin, the old associations of their 
childhood, the ties of relationship, and a few months’ inti- 
macy with us, will go far to overcome her repugnance to 
them, and bring her round to tolerate, were it only for 
the sake of family feeling, what might be unendurable to 
a stranger.’ They were sure of the consent of my fatlier, 
who never had any will but that of his elder brother and 


158 


CONSUELO. 


his sister Wenceslawa; and who, to say the truth, has never 
had a will of his own. 

^MVhen, after a fortnight-s careful observation of his 
manners, the constant melancholy and reserve, which ap- 
peared to be the confirmed character of my cousin, became 
evident to them, my uncle and aunt concluded that the 
last scion of their race was not destined to win renown by 
great or noble deeds. He displayed no inclination for a 
bright career in arms, diplomacy, or civil affairs. To every 
proposal he mildly replied that he should obey the wishes 
of his relations, but that for his own part he desired 
neither luxury or glory. After all, this indolent disposi- 
tion was but an exaggerated copy of his father’s, a man of 
such calm and easy temperament that his imperturbability 
borders on apathy, and his modesty is a kind of self- 
denial. What gives to my uncle’s character a tone 
which is wanting in his son’s, is his strong sense, 
devoid of pride, of the duties he owes to society. 
Albert seemed formerly to understand domestic du- 
ties, but public ones, as they were regarded by others, 
concerned him no more than in his childhood. 
His father and mine had followed the career of arms, 
under Montecuculli, against Turenne. They had borne 
with them into the war a kind of religious enthusiasm, in- 
spired by the example of the emperor. A blind obedience 
to their superiors was considered the duty of their time. 
This more enlightened age, however, strips the monarch of 
his false halo, and the rising generation believe no more 
in the divine right of the crown than in that of the tiara. 
When my uncle endeavored to stir up in his son’s bosom 
Llie flame of ancient chivalric ardor, he soon perceived that 
his arguments had no meaning for a reasoner who looked 
oil such things with contempt. 

^ Since it is thus,’ my uncle observed to my aunt, 'we 
will not thwart him. Let us not counteract this melan- 
choly remedy, which has at least restored to us a passion- 
less, m place of an impetuous man. Let his life, in ac- 
cordance with his desire, be tranquil, and he may become 
studious and philosophic as were many of his ancestors, an 
ardent lover of the chase like our brother Frederick, or a 
just and beneficent master, as we ourselves try to be. Let 
liim lead from henceforward the untroubled and inoffensive 
life of an old man; he will be the first liudolstadt whose 


CONSUELO, 


159 


life shall have known no youth. But as he must not be 
the last of his race, let us marry him, so that the heirs of 
our name may fill up this blank in the glory of our house. 
Who knows but it may be the will of Providence that 
the generous blood of his ancestors now sleeps in his veins 
only to reawaken with a fresh impulse in those of his de- 
scendants?’ 

So it was decided that they should break the ice on this 
delicate subject to my cousin Albert. 

‘^They at first approached it gently; but as they found 
this proposal quite as unpalatable as all previous ones had 
been, it became necessary to reason seriously with him. He 
pleaded bashfulness, timidity, and awkwardness in female 
society. 

“ ‘ Certainly,’ said my aunt, ^ in my young days I would 
have considered a lover so grave as Albert more repulsive 
than otherwise; and I would not have exchanged my hump 
for his conversation.’ 

‘ We must then,’ said my uncle, ^ fall back upon our 
last resource, and persuade him to marry Amelia. He has 
known her from infancy, looks upon her as a sister, and 
will be less timid with her; and, as to firmness of char- 
acter, she unites animation and cheerfulness, she will by her 
good humor dissipate those gloomy moods into which he 
so frequently relapses.’ 

‘^Albert did not condemn this project, and, without 
openly saying so, consented to see and become acquainted 
with me. It was agreed that I should not be informed of 
the plan, in order to save me the mortification of being re- 
jected, which was always possible on his part. They wrote 
CO my father, and as soon as they had secured his consent, 
they took steps to obtain the dispensation from the Pope 
which our consanguinity rendered necessary. At the 
same time my father took me from the convent, and one 
fine morning we arrived at the Castle of the Giants — I 
very well pleased to breathe the fresh air, and impatient to 
see my betrothed; my good father full of hope, and fancy- 
ing that he had ingeniously concealed from me a project 
which he had unconsciously betrayed in every sentence he 
uttered in the course of the journey. 

The first thing which struck me in Albert was his 
fine figure and noble air. I confess, dear Nina, that my 
heart beat almost audibly when he kissed my hand, and 


160 


CONSUELO, 


that for some days I was charmed by his look, and de- 
lighted by the most trifling word that fell from his lips. 
His serious, thoughtful manner was not displeasing to me. 
He seemed to feel no constraint in my society: on the con- 
trary, he was unreserved as in the days of our child liood; 
and when, from a dread of failing in politeness, he wished 
to restrain his attention, our parents urged him to continue 
his ancient familiarity with me. My cheerfulness some- 
times caused him to smile involuntarily, and my good aunt, 
transported with joy, attributed to me the honor of this 
improvement, which she believed would be permanent. 
At length he came to treat me with the mildness and 
gentleness one displays toward a child, and I was content — 
satisfied that he would shortly pay more attention to my 
little animated countenance, and to the handsome dresses 
by which I studied to please him. But I had soon the 
mortification to discover that he cared little for the one, 
and that he did not even appear to see the other. One 
day my good aunt wished to direct his attention to a beau- 
tiful blue dress, which suited my figure admirably. Would 
you believe it? — he declared its color to be a bright red! 
His tutor, the abbe, who had honeyed compliments ever 
ready on his lips, and who wished to give his pupil a lesson 
in gallantry, insinuated that he could easily guess why 
Count Albert could not distinguish the color of my dress. 
Here was a capital opportunity for Albert to address to me 
some flattering remarks on the roses of my cheeks or the 
golden hue of my hair. He contented himself, however, 
with drily telling the abbe that he was as capable of dis- 
tinguishing colors as he was, and with repeating his asser- 
tion that my robe was as red as blood. I do not know why 
this rudeness of manner and eccentricity of expression 
made me shudder. I looked at Albert, and his glance ter- 
rified me. From that day I began to fear him more than 
I loved him. In a short time 1 ceased to love him at all, 
and now I neither love nor fear him; I merely pity him. 
You will by degrees understand why. 

“ The next day we were to go to Tanss, the nearest village, 
to make some purchases. I had promised myself much 
pleasure from this excursion as Albert was to accompany 
me on horseback. When ready to set out, I of course ex- 
pected that he would offer me his arm. The carriages were 
in the court, but he did not make his appearance, although 


CONSUELO. 


161 


his servant said that he had knocked at his door at the 
usual hour. They sent again to see if he were getting- 
ready. Albert always dressed by liimself, and never per- 
mitted a servant to enter his chamber until he had quitted 
it. They knocked in vain; there was no I'eply. His 
father, becoming uneasy at this continued sileiice, went 
himself to tlie I'oorn; but he could neither o[)('n the door, 
which was bolted inside, nor obtain a reply to his ques- 
tions. They began to be frightened, when the abbe ob- 
served in his usual placid manner, that Count Albert was 
subject to long fits of sleep, which might almost be termed 
trances, and if suddenly awakened, he was agitated, and 
apparently suffered for many days, as if from a shock. 

• But that is a disease,^ said the canoness, anxiously. 

‘ I do not think so,^said the abbe. ‘ He has never com- 
plained of any thing. The physicians whom I bi-ought to 
see him when he lay in this state, found no feverish symp- 
toms, and attributed his condition to excess of applicatio?i 
or study; and they earnestly advised that this apparently 
necessary repose and entire forgetfulness should not be 
counteracted by any mode of treatment.^ 

^ And is it frequent?^ asked my uncle. 

“ ‘ I have observed it only five or six times during eight 
years; and not having annoyed him by my attentions, I 
have never found any unpleasant consequences.^ 

“ ‘ And does it last long?’ 1 demanded in my turn, very 
impatiently. 

‘ Longer or shorter, according to the want of rest 
which precedes or occasions these attacks; but no one can 
know, for the count either does not himself recollect the 
cause, or does not wish to tell it. He is extremely studi- 
ous, and conceals it with unusual modesty.’ 

* He is very leai'iied then?’ I replied. 

“ ‘ Extremely-’learned.’ 

“ ^ And he never displays it?’ 

“ ‘ He makes a secret of it — nay, does not himself sus- 
pect it.’ 

Of what use is it, in that case?’ 

‘ Genius is like beauty,’ replied this Jesuit courtier, 
casting a soft look upon me; ‘ botli are favors of Heaven 
which occasion neither pride nor agitation to those who 
enjoy them.’ 

‘H understood the lesson, and only felt the more an- 


162 


CONStlELO. 


noyed, as yon may suppose. They resolved to defer the 
drive until rny cousin should awake; but when at the end 
of two hours I saw that he did not stir, I laid aside my rich 
riding-dress, and commenced to my embroidery, not with- 
out spoiling a good deal of silk and missing many stitches. 
I was indignant at the neglect of Albert, who over his 
books in the evening liad forgotten his promised ride with 
me, and who had now left me to wait, in no very pleasant 
humor, while he quietly enjoyed his sleep. The day wore 
on, and we were obliged to give up our proposed excursion. 
JVly father, confiding in the assurance of the abbe, took his 
gun, and strolled out to kill a few hares. My aunt, who 
had less faith in the good rnan^s opinion, went upstairs 
more than twenty times to listen at her nephew’s door, but 
without being able to hear the faintest breathing. The 
poor woman was in an agony of distress. As for my uncle, 
he took a book of devotion, to try its effect in calming his 
inquietude, and began to read in a corner of the saloon with 
a resignation so provoking that it half tempted me to leap 
out of the window with chagrin. At length toward even- 
ing, my aunt, overjoyed, came to inform us that she had 
heard Albert rise and dress himself. The abbe advised us 
to appear neither surprised nor uneasy, not to ask the 
count any questions, and to endeavor to divert his mind 
and his thoughts, if he evinced any signs of mortification 
at what had occurred. 

‘‘ ^But if my cousin be not ill, he is mad!’ exclaimed I, 
with some degree of irritation. 

“1 observed my uncle change countenance at this harsli 
expression, and I was struck with sudden remorse. But 
when Albert entered without apologizing to any one, and 
without even appearing to be aware of our disappoint- 
ment, i confess 1 was excessively piqued and gave him a 
very cold reception, of which, however, absorbed as he was 
in thought, he took not the slightest notice. 

In the evening, my father fancied that a little music 
would raise his spirits. I had not yet sung before Albert, 
as my harp had only arrived the preceding evening. I 
must not, accomplished Porpoiana, boast of my musical 
acquirements before you; but you will admit that I have 
a good voice, and do not want natural taste. I allowed 
them to press me, for T had at the moment more inclina- 
tion to cry than to sing, but Albert offered not a word to 


CONSUELO. 


163 


(Imw me out. At last I yielded, but I sang badly, and 
Albert, as it I had tortured his ears, had the rudeness to 
leave the room after I liad gone through a few bars. I was 
com])clIed to summon all my pride to my assistance to pre- 
vent me from bursting into tears, and to enable me to finish 
the air without breaking the strings of my harp. My 
aunt followed her nephew; my father was asleep ; my 
uncle waited near the door till his sister should return, to 
tell him something of his son. The abbe alone remained 
to pay me complijnents, which irritated me yet more than 
the indifference of the otliers. ‘It seems,' said 1 to him, 
‘ that my cousin does not like music.’ 

“‘On the contrary, he likes it very much,’ replied he, 
‘ but it is according ’ 

“ ‘ According to the manner in which one performs,’ 
said I, interrupting him. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied he, in no wise disconcerted, ‘ and to the 
state of his mind. Sometimes music does him good, some- 
times harm. You have, I am certain, agitated him so 
much that lie feared he should not be able to restrain his 
emotion. This retreat is more flattering to you than the 
most elaborate praise.’ 

“ The compliments of this Jesuit had in them something 
so sinister and sarcastic that it made me detest him. But 
I was soon freed from his annoyance, as you shall presently 
learn. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“On the following day my aunt, who never speaks un- 
less when strongly moved, took it into her head to begin a 
conversation with the abbe and the chaplain, and as, with 
the exception of her family affections, which entirely ab- 
sorb her, she is incapable of convei'sing on any topic but 
that of family honor, she was ere long deep in a disserta- 
tion on her favorite subject, genealogy, and laboring to 
convince the two priests that our race w.as the pui'est and 
the most illustrious, as well as the most noble, of all the 
families of Germany, on the female side particularly. The 
abbe listened with patience, the chai)lain with profound 
respect, when Albert, who apparently had taken no interest 
in the old lady’s disquisition, all at once interrupted her. 


1C4 


(JONSUELO. 


“ ^It would seem, my dear aunt,’ said he, ^ that you are 
laboring under some hallucination as to the superiority of 
our family. It is true tliat tlieir titles and nobility are of 
sufficient antiquity, but a family which loses its name, ab- 
jures it in some sort in order to assume that of a woman of 
foreign race and religion, gives up its right to be con- 
sidered ancient in virtue and faithful to the glory of its 
country.^ 

“This remark somewhat disconcerted the canoness, but 
as the abbe had appeared to lend profound attention to it, 
she thought it incumbent on her to reply. 

“ am not of your opinion, my dear child, ^ said she ; ' 
‘ we have often seen illustrious houses render themselves 
still more so, and with reason, by uniting to their name 
that of a maternal branch, in order not to deprive tlieir heirs 
of the honor of being descended from a woman so illustri- 
ously connected.'’ * 

“ ‘ But this is a case to which that rule does not apply, ^ 
answered Albert, with a pertinacity for which he was not 
remarkable. ^ 1 can conceive the alliance of two illustri- 
ous names. It is quite right that a woman should trans- 
mit to her children her own name joined with that of her 
husband; but the complete extinction of the latter would 
appear to me an insult on the part of her who would exact 
it, and an act of baseness on the part of him who would 
submit to it.'’ 

“^You speak of matters of very remote date, Albert,^ 
said the canoness, with a pi-ofound sigh, ‘and are even less 
happy than I in the application of the rule. Our good 
abbe might from your words suppose that some one of our 
ancestors had been capable of such meanness. And since 
you appear to be so well informed on subjects of which I 
supposed you comparatively ignorant, you should not have 
made a reflection of this kind relative to political events, 
now, thank God, long passed away !’ 

“ ‘ If my observation disturb you, I shall detail the facts, 
in order to clear the memory of our ancestor Withold, the 
last Count of Kudolstadt, of every imputation injurious to 
it. It appears to interest rny cousin,’ he added, seeing 
that my attention had become riveted upon him, astonished 
as I was to see him engage in a discussion so contrary to 
his philosophical ideas and silent habits. ‘Know, then, 
Amelia, that our great-great-grandfather, Wratislaw, was 


CONSUELO. 


165 


only four years old whe*n his mother, Ulrica, of Riulol- 
sLadt, took it into her head to inflict upon him the insult 
of supplanting his true name— the name of his fathers, 
which was Podiebrad — by this Saxon name which you and 
I bear to-day — you Vithout blushing for it, and 1 without 
being proud of it/ 

“ - It is useless, to say the least of it,^ said my uncle, 
who seemed ill at ease, ‘ to recall events so distant from the 
time in which we live/ 

“ ^ \t appears to me,’ said Albert, ^that my aunt. has 
gone much further back, in relating the high deeds of the 
Kudolstadts, and I do not know why one of us, when he 
recollects by chance that he is of Bohemian and not of 
Saxon origin — tliat he is called Podiebrad, and not Rudol- 
stadt — should be guilty of ill-breeding in si)eaking of 
events which occurred not more than twenty-five years 
ago/ 

^ I know very well,’ replied the abbo, who had list- 
ened to Albert with considerable interest, Hhat your illus- 
trious family was allied in past times to the royal line of 
George Podiebrad; but I was not aware that it had de- 
scemled in so direct a line as to bear the name.’ 

It is because my aunt, who knows how to draw out 
genealogical trees, has thought fit to forget the ancient and 
venerable one from which we have sprung. But a genea- 
logical tree, upon which our glorious but dark history has 
been written in characters of blood, stands yet upon the 
neighboring mountains.’ 

As Albert became very animated in speaking thus, 
and my uncle’s countenance appeared to darken, the abbc, 
much as his curiosity was excited, endeavored to give the 
conversation a different turn. But mine would not suffer 
tne to remain silent when so fair an opportunity presented 
itself for satisfying it. MViiat do you mean, Albert?’ 1 
exclaimed, approaching him. 

“ ‘ I mean that which a Podiebrad should not be ignor- 
ant of,’ he replied; Ghat the old oak of the Stone of 
Terror, which you see every day from your window, Arnelki, 
and under which you should never sit down without rais- 
ing your soul to God, bore, some three hundred years ago, 
fruit rather heavier than the dried acorns it produces 
to-day.’ 

“‘It is a shocking story,’ said the chaplain, horror- 


166 


GONSUELO. 


struck, ^ and I do not know who could have informed the 
count of it/ 

‘‘ ‘The tradition of the country, and perhaps something 
more certain still, ^ replied Albert. *' You have in vain 
burned the archives of the family, and the records of his- 
tory, Mr. Chaplain; in vain have you brought up children 
ill ignorance of the past ; in vain imposed silence on the 
simple by sophistry, on the weak by threats : neither the 
dread of despotic power, however great, nor even that of 
hell itself, can stifle the thousand voices of the past which 
awaken on every side. No, no ! they speak too loudly, 
these terrible voices, for that of a priest to hush them ! 
They speak to our souls .in sleep, in the whisperings of 
spirits from the dead ; they appeal to us in every sound we 
hear in the external world ; they issue even from the 
trunks of the trees, like the gods of the olden time, to 
tell us of the crimes, the misfortunes, and the noble deeds 
of our ancestors 

“ ‘ And why, my poor child,’ said the canoness, ‘ why 
cherish in your mind such bitter thoughts— such dreadful 
recollections 

“‘It is your genealogies, dear aunt — it is your recur- 
rence to the times that are gone — which have pictured to 
my mind those fifteen monks hung to the branches of the 
oak by the hand of one of my ancestors — the greatest, the 
most terrible, the most persevering — he who wassiirnamed 
the Terrible — the blind, the invincible John Ziska of the 
Chalice I’ 

“The exalted yet abhorred name of the chief of the 
Taborites, a sect which during the war of the Hussites sur- 
passed all other religionists in their energy, their bravery, 
and their cruelty, fell like a thunderbolt on the ears of the 
abbe and the chaplain. The latter crossed himself, and 
my aunt drew back her chair, which was close to that of 
Albert. ‘Good Heaven !’ she exclaimed, ‘of what and of 
whom does this child speak ? Do not heed him, Mr. 
Abbe ! Never — no, never — was our family connected by 
any ties, either of kindred or friendship, with the odious 
reprobate whose name has just been mentioned !’ 

“‘Speak for yourself, aunt,’ said Albert with energy; 
‘you are a Rudolstadt to the heart’s core, although in 
reality aPodiebrad. As for myself, I have more Bohemian 
blood in niy veins — all the purer too for its having less 


consxiELO, 


167 

foreign admixture. My mother liad neither Saxons, 
Bavarians, nor Prussians, in her genealogical tree ; she 
was of pure Slavonic origin. And since you appear to 
care little for nobility, I, who am proud of my descent, 
shall inform you of it, if you are ignorant, that John 
Ziska left a daughter who married the lord of Prachalitz, 
and that my mother herself, being a Prachalitz, descends 
in a direct line from John Ziska, just as you yourself, my 
aunt, descend from the Rudolstadts.^ 

‘ It is a dream, a delusion, Albert V 
^ Not, so, dear aunt; I appeal to the chaplain, who is a 
God-fearing man and will speak the truth. He has had in 
his hands the parchments which prove what 1 have as- 
serted.^ 

‘ 1 ?’ exclaimed the chaplain, pale as death. 

^‘^You may confess it without blushing before the 
abbe,^ replied Albert with cutting irony, ‘since you only 
did your duty as an Austrian subject and a good Catholic 
in burning them the day after my mother’s death.’ 

“ ‘ That deed, which my conscience approved, was wit- 
nessed by God alone,’ falteringly replied the chaplain, 
terror-stricken at the disclosure of a secret of which he 
considered himself the sole human repository. ‘Who, 
Count Albert, could have revealed it to you?’ 

“ ‘ I have already told you, Mr. Chaplain — a voice which 
speaks louder than that of a priest.’ 

“ ‘ What voice, Albert ?’ 1 exclaimed, with emotion. 

“ ‘The voice which speaks in sleep,’ replied Albert. 

“ ‘ But that explains nothing, my son,’ said Count 
Christian, sighing. 

“ ‘ It is the voice of blood, my father,’ said Albert, in a 
tone so sepulchral that it made us shudder. 

“ ‘ Alas I’ said my uncle, clasping his hands, ‘ these are 
the same reveries, the same phantoms of the imagination, 
which haunted his poor mother. She must have spoken of 
it to our child in her last illness,’ he added, turning to my 
aunt, ‘and such a story was well calculated to make a 
lively impression on his memory.’ 

“ ‘ Impossible, brother !’ replied the canoness. ‘Albert 
was not three years old when he lost his mother !’ 

“ ‘ It is more likely,’ said the chaplain in a low voice, 
‘that there must have remained in the house some one of 
those cursed heretical writings, filled with lies and im- 


168 


CONSUELO. 


pieties, which she had preserved from family pride, but 
wliicli nevertheless she had the courage and virtue to sur- 
render to me in her last moments/ 

^ No, not one remained,^ replied Albert, who had not 
lost a single word of what the chaplain said, although he 
had spoken in a low voice, and although he, was walking 
about, much agitated, at that moment at the other end of 
the saloon. ‘ You know very well, sir, that you destroyed 
them all ; and moreover, that the day after her death you 
searched and ransacked every corner of her chamber.^ 

MVho has thus aided, or rather misled, your memory, 
Albert?^ asked Count Cliristian in a severe tone ; ^ what 
faithless or imprudent servant has dared to disturb your 
young mind by an exaggerated account of these domestic 
events T 

“ No one, my father ; I swear it to you by my religion 
and my conscience V 

‘ The enemy of the human race has had a hand in it,^ 
said the terrified chaplain. 

^ It would probably be nearer the truth, ^ observed the 
abbe, ‘'and more Christian, to conclude that Count Albert 
is endowed with an extraordinary memory, and that occur- 
rences, the recital of which does not usually strike a child 
of tender years, have remained engraved upon his mind. 
What I have seen of his rare intelligence, induces me 
readily to believe that his reason must have h.ad a wonder- 
fully precocious development ; and as to his faculty of re- 
membering events, I know that it is in fact prodigious.'’ 

‘ It seems prodigious to you, only because you are en- 
tirely devoid of it^’ replied Albert, drily. ‘ For example, 
you cannot recollect what you did in 1619, after Withold 
Podiebrad the Protestant, the valiant, the faithful (your 
grandfather, my dear aunt), and the last who bore our 
name, had dyed with his blood the Stone of Terror. You 
have forgotten your conduct under those circumstances, I 
would wager, Mr. Abbe.’ 

‘‘ ‘ 1 confess I have entirely forgotten it,’ replied the 
abbe with a sarcastic smile, which was not in very good 
taste at a moment when it was evident to us that Albert’s 
mind was wandering. 

AVell, I will remind you,’ returned Albert, without 
being at all disconcerted.. ‘You immediately went and 
advised those soldiers of the empire who had struck the 


CONSUELO. 


169 


blow, to fly or hide, because the laborers of Pilsen, who 
had tlie courage to avow themselves Protestants, aud who 
adored Withold, were hastening to avenge their master’s 
death, and would assuredly have cut them in pieces. 
Then you came to find my ancestress Ulrica, Withold’s 
terrified and trembling widow, and promised to make her 
peace with the Emperor Ferdinand II, and preserve her 
estate, her title, her liberty, and the lives of her children 
if she would follow your advice, and purcliase your 
services at the price of gold. She consented ; her maternal 
love prompted tiuit act of weakness. She forgot tlie 
martyrdom of lier noble luisband. She was born a Catho- 
lic, and had abjured that faith only from love for him. 
Siie knew not how to endure misery, proscription, and 
persecution, in order to preserve to her children a faith 
whicli Withold had sealed with his blood, and a name 
which he had rendered more illustrious than even those of 
his ancestors, who had been Hussites, Calixtins, Tahorites, 
Orphans, Brethren of the Union, and Lutherans J (All 
these names, my dear Porporina, are those of different 
sects, which united the heresy of John IIuss to that of 
Luther, and which the branch of the Podiebrads from 
which we descend had probably followed.) ‘In fine,’ 
continued Albert, ‘the Saxon woman was afraid, and 
yielded. You took possession of the chateau, you turned 
aside the imperial troops, you caused our lands to be re- 
spected, and you made an immense auto-da-fe of our titles 
and our archives. That is why my aunt, happily for her, 
has not been able to re-establish the genealogical tree of 
the Podiebrads. and has resorted to the less indigestible 
pasture of the Rudolstadts. As a reward for your services 
you were made rich, very rich. Three months afterward 
Ulrica was permitted to go and embrace the emperor’s 
knees at Vienna, and graciously allowed by him to de- 
nationalize her children, to have thern educated by you in 
the Romish religion, and to enrol them afterward under 
the standard against which their father and their ances- 
tors had so valiantly fought. We were incorporated, my 
sons and I, in the ranks of Austrian tyranny.’ 

“ ‘Your sons and you!’ said my aunt in despair, seeing 
that he wandered more and more. 

“‘Yes, my sons Sigismond and Rodolph,’ replied Al- 
bert, very seriously. 


170 


GONSUELO. 


^^^Those are the names of my father and uncle!’ said 
Count Christian. ‘Albert, where are your senses? Re- 
call them, my son. More than a century separates us 
from those sad occurrences, wlrich took place by the order 
of Providence.’ 

“Albert would not desist. He was fully persuaded, and 
wished to persuade us, that he was the same as Wratislaw, 
the son of Withold, and the first of the Podiebrads who 
had borne the maternal name of Rudolstadt. He gave us 
an account of his childhood, of the distinct recollection he 
had of Count Withold’s execution (the odium of which he 
attributed to the Jesuit Dithmar, who, according to him, 
was no other than the abbe, his tutor), the profound 
hatred which during his childhood he had felt for this 
Dithmar, for Austria, for the Imperialists, for the Catho- 
lics. After this his recollections appeared confused, and 
he added a thousand incomprehensible things about the 
eternal and perpetual life, about the reappearance of men 
upon the earth, supporting -himself upon that article of 
the Hussite creed which declared that John Hess was 
to return to Bohemia one hundred years after his death, 
and complete his work — a prediction which it appeared 
had been accomplished, since, according to him, Luther 
was John Huss resuscitated. In fine, his discourse was a 
mixture of heresy, of superstition, of obscure metaphysics, 
and of poetic frenzy; and it was all uttered with such an 
appearance of conviction, with recollections, so minute, so 
precise, and so interesting, of what he pretended to have 
seen, not only in tlie person of AVratislaw, but also in that 
of John Ziska, and I know not of how many other dead 
persons, who he maintained had been his own appearances 
in the past, that we remained listening to him with open 
mouths, and without the power of interrupting or contra- 
dicting him. My uncle and aunt, who were dreadfully 
afflicted at this insanity, which seemed to them impious, 
endeavored to discover its origin; for this was the first 
time that it displayed itself openly, and it was necessary 
to know its source in order to be able to combat it. The 
abbe tried to turn it all off as a jest, and to make us be- 
lieve that Count Albert had a very witty and sarcastic dis- 
position, and took pleasure in mystifying us with his 
amazing learning. ‘ He had read so much,’ said he, ‘ that 
he could in the same manner relate the history of all ages. 


CONSUELO. 


171 


chapter by cliapter, with such details and such precision 
as to make us believe, if we were ever so little inclined to 
the marvelous, that he had in fact been present at the 
scenes he relates/ The cauoness, who in her ardent de- 
votion is not many degrees removed from superstition, and 
who began to believe her nephew on the faith of his recital, 
received the abbess insinuations very badly, and advised 
him to keep his jests for a more fitting occasion; then she 
made a strong elfort to induce Albert to retract the errors 
with which he was imbued. ‘Take care, aunt,^ cried Al- 
bert, impatiently, ‘ that 1 do not tell you who you are. 
Hitherto I have not wished to know, but something warns 
me at this moment that the Saxon Ulrica is near.^ 

“ ‘What! my poor child!’ replied she; ‘ that prudent and 
devout ancestress, who knew how to preserve fur her chil- 
dren their lives, and for her descendants the independence, 
the fortune, and the honors they now enjoy? Do you 
think she lives again in me? AVell, Albert, so dearly do I 
love you, that I would do even more for you than she did; 
I would even sacrifice my life, if by so doing I could calm 
your troubled soul.’ 

“Albert looked at her a moment with an expression at 
once severe and tender. ‘No, no,’ said he at last, ap- 
proaching her and kneeling at her feet, ‘you are am angel, 
and you used to receive the communion in the wooden 
cup of the Hussites. But the Saxon woman is here, never- 
theless, and her voice has reached my ear several times 
to-day.’ 

“ ‘Allow her to be me, Albert,’ said I exerting myself 
to cheer him, ‘and do not think too ill of me for not hav- 
ing delivered you up to the executioners in 1019.’ 

“ ‘ You rny mother!’ said he, looking at me with flam- 
ing eyes; ‘ do not say that, for if so I cannot forgive you. 
God caused me to be born again in the bosom of a stronger 
woman; he retempered me in the blood of Ziska — in my 
own substance, which had been misled, I know not how. 
Amelia, do not look at me! above all, do not speak to me! 
It is your voice, Ulrica, which has caused me all the suffer- 
ing 1 endure to-day.’ 

“On saying this, Albert hastily left the room, and we 
remained overpowered by the sad discovery we had made 
of the alienation of his mind. 

“ It was then two o’clock in the afternoon; we had dined 


172 


CONSUELO. 


quietly, aud Albert had drunk only water. There was 
nothing therefore which could lead us to suppose that this 
frenzy could be occasioned by intoxication. The chaplain 
and my aunt immediately rose to follow and nurse him, 
thinking him seriously ill. But, inconceivable as it may 
seem, Albert had already disappeared, as if by enchant- 
ment. They could not find him in his own apartment, nor 
in his mother^ where he frequently used to shut himself up, 
nor ill any corner of the chateau. They searched for him 
in the garden, in the warren, in the surrounding woods, 
and among the mountains. No one had seen him, far or 
near. No trace of his steps was anywhere to be found. 
The rest of the day and the succeeding night were spent 
in the same manner. No one went to bed in the house; 
our people were on foot until dawn, and searching for him 
with torches. 

^^All the family retired to pray. The next day and 
the following night were passed in the same consterna- 
tion. I cannot describe the terror I felt — I, who had 
never suffered any uneasiness, who had never experi- 
enced in my life domestic events of such importance. I 
seriously believed that Albert had either killed himself 
or fled forever. I was seized with convulsions, and finally 
with a malignant fever. I still felt for him some remains 
of love, in the midst of the terror with which so fatal and 
so strange a character inspired me. My father had 
strength enough to pursue his usual sport of hunting, 
thinking that in his distant excursions he might possibly 
happen on Albert in the midst of the woods. My poor 
aunt, a prey to anguish, but still active and courageous, 
nursed me, and tried to comfort every body. My uncle 
prayed night and day. When I saw his faith and his pious 
submission to the will of Heaven, I regretted that I was 
not devout. 

^^The abbe feigned some concern, but affected to feel no 
apprehension. It was true, he said, that Albert had never 
thus disappeared from his presence, but he required seasons 
of solitude and reflection. His conclusion was that the only 
remedy for these singularities was never to thwart them, 
and not to appear to remark them much. The fact is, 
that this intriguing and profoundly selfish underling cared 
for nothing but the large salary iittached to his situation 
of tutor, which he had made to last as long as possible 


VONSUELO. 


173 


by deceiving the family respecting the result of his good 
otlices. Occupied by his own affairs and his own pleasures, 
he had abandoned Albert to liis extravagant inclina- 
tions. Possibly he had often seen him ill and fre- 
quently excited, and had, without doubt, allowed free 
scope to his fancies. Certain it is that he had had the 
tact to conceal them from every one who could have given 
us notice; for in all the letters which my uncle received 
respecting his son, there was nothing but eulogiums upon 
his appearance and congratulations upon the beauty of his 
person. Albert had nowhere left the impression that he 
was ill or devoid of sense. However this may have been, 
his mental life during those eight years of absence has al- 
ways remained an impenetrable mystery to us. The abbe, 
after three days had elapsed, seeing that he did not make 
his appearance, and fearing that his own position had been 
injured by this accident, departed, with the intention as 
he said of seeking for him at Prague, whither the desire 
of searching for some rare book might, according to him, 
have drawn him. ‘He is,^ said he, Mike those learned 
men who bury themselves in their studies, and forget the 
whole world when engaged in their harmless pursuits.^ 
Thereupon the abbe departed, and did not return. 

‘‘After seven days of mortal anguish, when we began 
at last to despair, my aunt, in passing one evening before 
Albert's chamber, saw the door open, and Albert seated in 
his arm-chair, caressing his dog, who had followed him in 
his mysterious journey. His garments were neither soiled 
nor torn; only the gold ornaments belonging to them were 
somewhat blackened, as if he had come from a damp place 
or had passed the nights in the open air. His shoes did 
not appear as if he had walked much; but his beard and 
liair bore evidence to a long neglect of the care of his person. 
Since that day he has constantly refused to shave himself, 
or to wear powder like other men, and that is why he had 
to you the appearance of a ghost. 

“ My aunt rushed toward him with a loud cry. ‘What 
is the matter, my dear aunt?' said he, kissing her hand. 
‘ One would imagine you had not seen me for ages.' 

“‘Unhappy childl' cried she, ‘it is now seven days 
since you left us without saying a word ; seven long, weary 
days, seven dreadful nights, during which we have searched 
for you, wept for you, and prayed for you,'^ 


m 


C0N8UKL0. 


‘ Seven days?’ said Albert, looking at her with sur- 
prise. ^ You must mean to say seven hours, my dear 
aunt, for I went out this morning to walk, and I have 
come back in time to sup with you. How can I have 
occasioned you so much anxiety by so short an absence?’ 

must have made a slip of the tongue,’ said she, 
fearing to aggravate his disease by mentioning it; 
meant to say seven hours. I was anxious because you are 
not accustomed to take such long walks, and besides I had 
an unpleasant dream last night ; I was foolish!’ 

‘'"Good, excellent aunt!’ said Albert, covering her 
hands with kisses, ‘you love me as if I were still a little 
child. I hope my father has not shared your anxiety.’ 

“‘Not at all; he is expecting you at supper. You 
must be very hungry.’ 

“ ‘ Not very. I dined well.’ 

‘“Where and when, Albert?’ 

“ ‘ Here, this morning, with you, my good aunt ; you 
have not yet recovered your senses, I perceive. Oh, I "am 
very unhappy at having caused you such a fright! How 
could I foresee it?’ 

“ ‘You know that such is my character. But allow me 
to ask you then where you have eaten and slept since you 
left ns?’ 

“ ‘ How could I nave had any inclination either to eat or 
sleep since this morning?’ 

“ ‘Ho you not feel ill?’ 

“ ‘ Not the least in the world.’ 

“‘Nor wearied? You must no doubt have walked a 
great deal, and scaling the mountains is so fatiguing. 
Where have yoii been?’ 

“Albert put his hand to his forehead, as if to recollect, 
but he could not tell. 

“ ‘ I confess to you,’ said he, ‘ that I know nothing 
about it. 1 was much preoccupied. I must have walked 
without seeing, as I used to do in my childhood ; you 
know I never could answer you when you questioned rne.’ 

“‘And during your travels, did you pay any more 
attention to what you saw?’ 

“ ‘ Sometimes, but not always. I observed n;any 
things, but I have forgotten many others, thank God.’ 

“ ‘ And why thank GodV 

“ ‘Because there are such horrible things to be seen on 


(J0N8UEL0. 


175 


the face of the earth!’ replied lie, rising with a gloomy ex- 
jiressioii which my aunt had not yet observed in him. 
She saw that it would not do to make him talk any more, 
and she ran to announce to my uncle that his son was 
found. No one yet knew it in the house ; no one had 
seen him enter. His return had left no more trace than 
his departure. 

‘‘ My poor uncle, who had shown so much courage in 
enduring misfortune, had none in the first moments of 
joy. He swooned away ; and when Albert reappeared be- 
fore him, his face was more agitated than his son’s. 
Albert, who since his long journey had not seemed to 
notice any emotion in those around him, appeared entirely 
renewed and diiferent from what he had been before. He 
lavished a thousand caresses on his father, was troubled at 
seeing him so changed, and wished to know the cause. 
But when they ventured to acquaint him with it, he never 
could comprehend it, and all his answers were given with 
a good faith and earnestness, which proved his complete 
ignorance of where he had been during the seven days he 
had disappeared.” 

^‘What you have told me seems like a dream, my dear 
baroness,” said Consuelo, and has set me thinking 
rather than sleeping. How could a man live seven days 
Avithout being conscious of any thing?” 

That is nothing compared to what I have yet to relate ; 
and until you have seen for yourself, that, far from exag- 
gerating, I soften matters in order to abridge my tale, you 
will, I can conceive, have some difficulty in believing me. 
As for me, who am relating to you what I have seen, I 
still ask myself sometimes if Albert is a sorcerer, or if he 
makes fools of us. But it is late, and I really fear that I 
have imposed upon your patience.” 

^'Itis I who impose iqx)!! yours,” replied Consuelo; 
‘‘you must be tired of talking. Let us put off till to- 
morrow evening, if you j^l^ase, the continuation of this in- 
credible history.” 

“ Till to-morrow then,” said the young baroness, em- 
bracing her. 


176 


COmUELO. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

The incredible history which she had just heard, kept 
CoiiSLielo, in fact, long awake. The dark, rainy, and 
tempestuous night also contributed to fill her with super- 
stitious fancies which she had never before experienced. 

Is there then some incomprehensible fatality,'’^ said she 
to herself, “which impends over certain individuals? 
What crime against God could that young girl have com- 
mitted, who was telling me so frankly just now of her 
wounded self-love and the vanishing of her fairest dreams? 
What evil have I myself done, that the sole affection of my 
heart should be torn from my bleeding bosom? But, 
alas! what fault has this savage Albert of Rudolstadt been 
guilty of, that he should thus lose his consciousness and the 
power of governing his life? What hatred has Providence 
conceived for Anzoleto, thus to abandon him as it has 
done, to wicked and perverse inclinations.” 

Overcome at last by fatigue, she slept, and lost herself 
in a succession of dreams without connection and without 
end. Two or three times she avvoke and fell asleep. again, 
without being able to understand where she was, and 
thinking she was still traveling. Porpora, Anzoleto, 
Count Zustiniani, Corilla, all passed in turn before her 
eyes, saying sad and strange things to her, and reproaching 
her with some unknown crime, for which she was obliged 
to undergo punishment, without being able to remember 
that she had ever committed it. But all these visions dis- 
appeared to give [)lace to that of Count Albert, who passed 
continually before her with his black beard, his fixed and 
motionless eyes, and his suit of mourning trimmed with 
gold, and sometimes sprinkled with tears like a funeral 
pall. 

On opening her eyes in the morning, fully awake, she 
found Amelia already dressed with elegance, fresh and 
smiling, beside her bed. 

“I)o you know, my dear Porporina,” said the young 
baroness, as she imprinted a kiss upon her brow, “ that 
there is something strange about you? I must be destined 
to live with extraordinary beings, for you also are certainly 
one. I have been looking at you asleep for the last quar- 
ter of an hour, to see by daylight if you are handsomer 


CONSUELO, 


177 ' 


than I am. I confess to you that this matter is of some 
consequence to me, and that iiotwitlistaiiding I have en- 
tirely abjured my love for Albert, I should be somewliat 
piqued if he looked upon you with interest. Do you think 
tlnit strange? The reason is, he is the only man here, and 
liitherto I have been the only woman. Now we are two, 
and we shall pull caps if you extinguish me completely.'’’ 

“ You are pleased to jest/’ replied Consuelo, and it is 
not generous on your part. But will you leave aside your 
raillery, and tell me what there is extraordinary in my ap- 
})earance? Perhaps all my ugliness has come back. Indeed 
that must be the case.” 

I will tell you the truth, Nina. At the first glimpse I 
caught of you this morning, your paleness, your large eyes 
only half closed and rather fixed than asleep, and your thin 
arm which lay stretched on the coverlet, gave me a 
moment’s triumph. And then, looking at you longer, I 
was almost terrified by your immobility and your truly 
regal attitude. Your arm I will maintain is that of a 
queen, and your calmness has in it something commanding 
and overpowering, for which I cannot account. Now, I 
think you are fearfully beautiful, and yet there is a sweet- 
ness in your countenance. Tell me who you are. You 
attract and intimidate me. I feel ashamed of the follies I 
related of myself last night. You have not yet told me 
anything of yourself, and yet you are acquainted with 
nearly all my defects.” 

^^If I have the air of a queen, of which I never was 
aware,” replied Consuelo, smiling sadly, it must be the 
piteous air of a dethroned one. As to my beauty, it has 
always seemed to me very problematical; and as to the opin- 
ion I have of you, dear Baroness Amelia, it is all in favor of 
your frankness and good nature.” 

“I am indeed frank — but are you so, Nina ? Yes, you 
have an air of grandeur and royalty. But are you confid- 
ing? I do not believe that you are.” 

It was not my place to be so first — that you will allow. 
It was for you, protectress and mistress of my destiny as 
you are at this moment, to make the first advances.” 

You are right. But your strong sense terrifies me. If 
I seem a scatter-brain, you will not lecture me too much, 
will you?” 

X have no right to do so. I am your mistress in music, 


178 


CONSUELO. 


and in nothing else. Beside, a poor daugliter of the people, 
like me, will always know how to keep her place/^ 

‘‘ You a daughter of the people, high-spirited Porpo- 
rina ! Oh ! you deceive me ; it is impossible. I should 
sooner believe you the mysterious offspring of some family 
of princes. What was your mother?’^ 

She sang, as I do.^^ 

And your father?'^ 

Consuelo was struck dumb. She had not prepared all 
her answers to the rather indiscreet questions of the little 
baroness. In truth she had never heard her father spoken 
of, and had never even thought of asking if she had one. 

“ Come,’^ said Amelia, bursting into a laugh, ^‘1 was 
sure I was right; your father is some grandee of Spain, or 
some doge of Venice. 

This style of speaking seemed to Consuelo trifling and 
offensive. 

So,^'’ said she, with some displeasure, “an honest me- 
chanic or a poor artist has no right to transmit natural dis- 
tinction to his child ? Is it absolutely necessary that the 
children of common people should be coarse and mis- 
shapen?” 

“ That last word is an epigram for my aunt Wenceslawa,” 
replied the baroness, laughing still more loudly. “ Coine, 
my dear, forgive me if I do plague you a little, and permit 
me to fashion in my own brain a more attractive romance 
about you. But dress yourself quickly, mycliild; for the 
bell will soon ring, and my aunt would let the family die 
of hunger rather than have breakfast served without you. 
I will help you to open your trunks; give me the keys. I 
am sure tliat you have brought the prettiest dresses from 
Venice, and I am dying to see all the new fashions — I have 
lived so long in this country of savages.” 

Consuelo, in a hurry to arrange her hair, gave the keys, 
without hearing what had been said, and Amelia hastenecl 
to open a trunk which slie imagined was full of dresses; 
but to her great surprise she found only a mass of old 
music, printed rolls worn out by long use, and apparently 
illegible manuscripts. 

“Ah? what is all this?” cried she, hastily shaking the 
dust from her pretty fingers. “ You have a droll ward- 
robe there, my clear child.” 

“ They are treasures; treat them with respect, my dear 


GONSUELO. 


179 


baroness/’ replied Oonsaelo. There are among them 
the autographs of the greatest masters, and I would rather 
lose my voice than not return them safely to Porpora, who 
has confided them to me.” Amelia opened a second trunk, 
and found it full of ruled paper, treatises on music, and 
other books on composition, harmony, and counterpoint. 

^^Ah! I understand,” said she laughing; ‘‘this is your 
jewel-box.” 

“I have no other,” replied Consuelo, “and I hope you 
will use it often.” 

“Very well: I see you are a severe mistress. But may 
one ask, without offending you, my dear JSdna, where you 
have put your dresses?” 

“At the bottom of this little box,” replied Consuelo, 
opening it, and showing the baroness a little dress of black 
silk, carefully and freshly folded. 

“Is that all?” said Amelia. 

“ That is all,” replied Consuelo, “ with my traveling 
dress. In a few days I shall make a second black dress, 
for a change.” 

“Ah! my dear child, then you are in mourning?” 

“Perhaps so, signora,” replied Consuelo, gravely. 

“ In that case forgive me. I ought to have known from 
your manner that you had some sorrow at your heart, and 
I shall love you quite as well for it. We shall sympathize 
even sooner; for I also have many causes of sadness, and 
might even now wear mourning for my intended husband. 
Ah! my dear Nina, do not be provoked at my gaiety; It is 
often merely an effort to conceal the deepest suffering.” 
They kissed each other, and went down to breakfast, 
where they found tlie family waiting for them. 

Consuelo saw, at the first glance, that her modest black 
dress and lier white neckerchief, closed even to the chin by 
a pin of jet, gave the canoness a very favorable opinion of 
her. Old Christian was a little less embarrassed and quite 
as affable toward her as the evening before. Baron 
Frederick, who through courtesy had refrained that day 
from going to the chase, could not find a word to say, 
although he had prepared a thousand fine speeches to thank 
her for the attentions she would pay to his daughter. But 
he took a seat beside her at the table, and set himself to 
help her with an importunity so child-like and minute, 
that he had no time to satisfy his own appetite. The 


180 


CONSUELO. 


chaplain asked her in wliat order the patriarch arranged 
the procession at Venice, and questioned her upon the 
appearance and ornaments of the cliiirches. lie saw by 
her answers that she had visited them frequently; and 
when he knew that she had learned to sing in tlie divine 
service, he testified the utmost respect for her. 

As for Count Albert, Consuelo hardly dared to raise her 
eyes to him, precisely because he was the only one who 
inspired her with a lively feeling of curiosity. She did not 
even know what sort of a reception he had given her. 
Once only she looked at him in a mirror as she crossed the 
saloon, and saw that he was dressed with some care, 
although still in' black. But although possessing all the 
distinguished appearance of a man of high birth, his un- 
trimmed beard and bail', and pallid complexion, gave him 
rather the pensive and neglected air of a handsome fisher- 
man of the Adriatic, than that of a German noble. 

Still, the harmony of his voice, which pleased the 
musical ear of Consuelo, gave her courage by degrees to 
look at him, and she was surprised to find in him the air 
and manners of a very sensible man. He spoke little, but 
judiciously; and when she rose from the table, he offered 
her his hand, without looking at her it is true (he had not 
done her that honor since the day before), but with much 
ease and politeness. She trembled in every limb on placing 
her hand in that of the fantastic hero of the tales and 
dreams of the preceding evening, and expected to find it 
cold as that of a corpse. But it was soft and warm as 
that of a healthy man. Consuelo could hardly conceal lier 
amazement. Her emotion gave her a sort of vertigo; and 
the glances of Amelia, who followed lier every motion, 
would have completed her embarrassment, if she had not 
called all her powers to her aid, in order to preserve her 
dignity in presence of the mischievous young girl. She 
returned Count Albert the profound bow which he made 
after conducting her to a chair; but not a word, not a look, 
was exchanged between them. 

‘‘^T)o you know, perfidious Porporina,” said Amelia to 
her companion, seating herself near her in order to whisper 
freely in her ear, "‘that you have produced a wonderful 
effect upon my cousin?’’ 

have not perceived much of it yet,” replied Consuelo. 

That is because you have not deigned to notice his 


COJSfSUELO. 


181 


manner toward me. For a whole year he has? not once 
offered me liis hand to lead me to or from the table, and 
now he conducts himself toward you with the most marked 
attention. It is true that he is in one of his most lucid 
moments, and one might say that you have brought him 
health and reason. But do not trust to appearances, Nina. 
It will be the same with you as it was with me: after three 
days of cordiality he will not even remember your 
existence.^^ 

I see that I must accustom myself to your jesting, 
said Consuelo. 

‘‘Is it not true, my dear aunt,^^ said Amelia, in a low 
voice, to the canoness, who came forward and took a seat 
near her and Consuelo, “that my cousin is extremely 
amiable toward our dear Porporina?'^ 

“ Do not jest about him, Amelia, said Wenceslawa, 
gently: “ the young lady will soon enough perceive the 
cause of our sorrows.’^ 

“ I atn not jesting, good aunt. Albertis perfectly well 
this morning, and 1 rejoice to see him as I have never be- 
fore seen him since I came here. If he were shaved and 
powdered like other people, yon would think he had never 
been ill.^^ 

“ Ilis air of calmness and health strikes me very agreeably 
in truth/^ said the canoness; “but I dare not Hatter myself 
that so happy a state of tilings will last.^’ 

“ What a noble and benevolent expression he hasl’^ said 
Consuelo, wishing to touch the heart of the canoness in its 
most tender point. 

“Do you think so?” said Amelia, transfixing her with a 
saucy and incredulous look. 

“ Yes, I do think so,” replied Consuelo firmly; “and as 
I told you yesterday evening, never did a human face in- 
spire me with more respect.” 

“Ah! my dear daughter, ^’said the canoness, suddenly cast- 
ing off her constrained air, and pressing Consuelo^s hand 
tenderly, “good hearts at once understand each other I 
I feared lest my poor* child should terrify you. It is a 
source of great pain to me to read in the countenances of 
others the aversion inspired by such maladies. But you 
have great sensibility, I perceive, and have at once com- 
prehended that in his wasted and diseased frame dwells 
a sublime soul, well worthy of a happier lot.” 


GONStJELO. 


m 

Oonsiielo was moved even to tears by the words of 
the excellent canoiiess, and kissed her hand affection- 
ately. She already felt more confidence and sympathy 
with that old deformed lady than with the brilliant and 
frivolous Amelia. 

They were interrupted by Baron Frederick, who, relying 
more upon his courage than his conversational powers, 
approached with the intention of asking a favor from the 
Signora Porporina. Even more awkward in the presence 
of ladies than his elder brother (this awkwardness was, it 
would seem, a family complaint, which one need not be 
much astonished to find developed, even to boorishness, in 
Albert), he stammered out some words, which Amelia un- 
dertook to compreliend and translate to Consuelo. 

‘^My father asks you, said she, ^Mf you feel courage 
enough to think of music after so painful a journey, and if 
it would not be an imposition on your good nature, to re- 
quest you to hear my voice and judge of my style?^’ 

With all my heart;^^ replied Consuelo, rising imme- 
diately, and opening the liarpsichord. 

You will see,^^ said Amelia to her in a low voice, as 
she arranged her music on the stand, “ that this will put 
Albert to flight, notwithstanding your good looks and 
mine.'’^ In fact, Amelia had hardly played a few bars, 
when Albert rose and went out on tip-toe, like a man who 
flatters himself that he is not perceived. 

It is astonishing,^^ said Amelia, still talking in a low 
voice wliile she played out of time, that lie did not slam 
the door furiously after him, as he sometimes does when I 
sing. He is quite amiable, one might almost say, gallant, 
to-day.” 

The chaplain, thinking to cover Albert’s departure, ap- 
proached the harpsichord and pretended to listen atten- 
tively. The rest of the family formed a half-circle at a 
little distance, waiting respectfully for the judgment which 
Consuelo should pronounce upon her pupil. 

Amelia courageously chose an air from the Acliille in 
Scyro of Pergolese, and sang it with* assurance from begin- 
ning to end in a shrill, piercing voice, accompanied by so 
comical a German accent, that Consuelo, who had never 
heard any thing of the kind, was scarcely able to keep from 
smiling at every word. It was hardly" necessary to hear 
four bars, to be convinced that the young baroness had no 


GONSUELO. 


183 


true idea and no knowledge whatever of music. She had 
a flexible voice, and perhaps had received good instruc- 
tion; but her character was too frivolous to allow her to 
study any thing conscientiously. For the same reason she 
did not mistrust her own powers, and, with German sang 
froidy attempted the boldest and most difiicult passages. 
She failed in. all, and thought to cover her unskillful- 
ness by forcing her intonation and thundering the accom- 
paniment, eking out the measure as best she could, by add- 
ing time to the bars which followed those in which she 
had diminished it, and changing the character of the music 
to such an extent, that Oonsuelo could hardly recognize 
what she heard, although the pages were before her eyes. 

Yet Count Christian, who was a perfect connoisseur, but 
who attributed to his niece all the timidity he would have 
felt in her place, exclaimed from time to time to encourage 
her: ‘‘Very well, Amelia, very well indeed! beautiful 
music. The canoness, who did not know very much 
about it, looked anxiously into the eyes of Consuelo, in 
order to anticipate her opinion; and the baron, who loved 
no other music than the flourishes of the hunting-horn, 
believing that his daughter sang too well for him to under- 
stand, waited in confidence for the expression of the 
judge^s satisfaction. The chaplain alone was charmed by 
these gargoiiillades, which he had never heard before 
Amelia's arrival at the chdteau. 

Consuelo very clearly saw that to tell the plain truth 
would distress the whole family. Kesolving to enlighten 
her pupil in private upon all these matters which she had 
to forget before she could learn any thing, she praised her 
voice, asked about her studies, approved the choice of 
masters whose works she had been made to study, and thus 
relieved herself of the necessity of declaring that she had 
studied them incorrectly. 

The family separated, well pleased with a trial which had 
been {)ainful only to Consuelo. She was obliged to go and 
shut herself up in her a{)artments with the music she had 
just heard profaned, and read it with her eyes, singing it 
mentally; in order to efface the disagreeable impression she 
had received. 


184 


C0N8UEL0, 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Whek the family reassembled toward evening, Consuelo, 
feeling more at ease with all these people whom she now 
began to get acquainted with, replied with less reserve and 
brevity to tlie questions, which on their part they felt more 
courage to address to her, respecting her country, her art, 
and her travels. She carefully avoided, as she had deter- 
mined, speaking of herself, and she related the events in 
the midst of which she had lived, without ever mentioning 
the part slie had taken in them. In vain did the curious 
Amelia sk’ive to lead her to enlarge on her personal adven- 
tures. Consuelo did not fall into the snare, nor for an in- 
stant betray the incognito she had resolved to maintain. 
It would be difficult to say precisely why this mystery had 
a peculiar charm for her. Many reasons induced her to 
observe it. In the first place, she had promised, even 
sworn to Porpora, to keep herself so completely hidden 
and concealed in every manner, that it would be im- 
possible for Anzoleto to discover her route, if he should 
attempt to pursue her — a very useless precaution, for 
Anzoleto, at this time, aftdr a few quickly smothered wishes 
of the kind, was occupied only with his debuts and his 
success at Xeuice. 

In the second place, Consuelo, wishing to conciliate the 
esteem and affection of the family wlio gave her a tem- 
porary refuge in her friendless and melanclioly situation, 
understood very well that they would mucli more readily 
receive her as a simple musician, a pupil of Poi-pora, and 
teacher of vocal music, than as prirna donna, a performer 
on the stage, and a celebrated cantatrice. She knew that 
among these unpretending and pious })eople, an avowal of 
such a })osition would impose upon her a difficult pai't ; 
and it is probable that, notwithstanding Porpoi’a’s recom- 
mendation, the arrival of Consuelo, the debutante, and 
the wonder of San Samuel, would have somewhat startled 
them. But even if these powerful motives had not 
existed, Consuelo would still have experienced the necessity 
of silence, and of keeping secret the brilliancy and the 
sufferings of her career. Every thing was linked together 
in her life — her power and her weakness, her glory and her 
love, She could not raise the smMlest corner of the veih 


(JONSUELO. 


185 


without laying bare one of the wounds of her soul ; and 
these wounds were still too recent,^too painful, too deep, to 
be healed by kindness or sympathy. She found relief only 
in the barrier which she laid raised between the sorrowful 
memories of the past and the calm energy of her new 
existence. This change of country, of scene, and of name, 
transported her at once into an unknown region, where, 
by assuming a new character, she hoped to become a new 
being. 

Til is renunciation of vanities, which might have solaced 
another woman, proved the salvation of this courageous 
being. In renouncing all compassion, as well as all human 
glory, she felt celestial strength come to her aid. I 
must regain some portion of my former happiness,^^ she 
said ; that which I so long enjoyed, and which consisted 
in loving and in being beloved. The moment 1 sought 
their admiration, they withdrew their love, and I have 
paid too dear for the honors they bestowed in place of 
their good-will. Let me begin again, obscure and in- 
significant, that I may be subjectecl neither to envy, nor 
ingratitude, nor enmity on the earth. The least token of 
sympathy is sweet, and the highest testimony of admir- 
ation is mingled with bitterness. If there be proud and 
strong- hearts to whom praise suffices, and whom triumph 
consoles, I have cruelly experienced that mine is not of the 
number. Alas ! glory has torn my Inverts heart from me ; 
let humility yield me in return at least some friends.^^ 

It was not thus that Porpora meant. In removing 
Oonsuelo from Venice, and from the dangers and agonies 
of her love, he only intended to procure her some repose 
before recalling her to the scene of ambition, and launch- 
ing her a^’esh into the storms of artistic life. He did not 
know his pupil. lie believed her more of a woman — that 
is to say, more impressionable than she was. In thinking 
of her he did not fancy her as calm, alfectionate, and 
busied with others, as she had always been able to become, 
but plunged in tears aiid devoured with vain regret. But 
he thought at the same time that a reaction would take 
place, and that he should find her cured of her love, and 
anxious to recommence the exercise of her powers, and 
enjoy the privileges of her genius. 

IMie pure and religious feeling conceived by Oonsuelo of 
the part she was to play in the family of Budolstadt, 


186 


COJ^StTELO. 


spread from this day a holy sereiiity over her words, her 
actions, and her countenance. Those who had formerly 
seen her dazzling with love and joy beneath the sun of 
Venice, could not easily have understood how she could 
become all at once calm and gentle in the midst of 
strangers, in the depths of gloomy forests, with her love 
blighted, both as regarded the past and the future. But 
goodness finds strength where pride only meets despair. 
Consuelo was glorious that evening, with a beauty which 
she had not hitherto displayed. It was not the half- 
developed impulse of sleeping nature waiting to be roused, 
nor the expansion of a power which seizes the spectators 
with surprise or delight; neither was it the hidden, in- 
comprehensible beauty of the scolare zingarella: no, it 
was the graceful penetrating charm of a pure and self- 
possessed woman, governed by her own sacred impulses. 

Her gentle and simple hosts needed no other than their 
generous instincts to drink in, if I may use the ex- 
pression, the mysterious incense which the angelic soul of 
Consuelo exhaled in their intellectual atmosphere. They 
experienced, even in looking at her, a moral elevation 
which they might have found it difficult to explain, but 
the sweetness of which filled them as with a new life. 
Albert seemed for the first time to enjoy the full possession 
of his faculties. He was obliging and good-natured with 
every one. He was suitably so with Consuelo, and spoke 
to her at different times in such terms as showed that he 
had not relinquished, as might be supposed, the elevated 
intellect and clear judgment with which nature had en- 
dowed him. The baron did not once fall asleep, the can- 
oness ceased to sigh, and Count Christian, who used to 
sink at night into his arm-chair, bent down under the 
weight of old age and vexation, remained erect with his 
back to the chimney, in the center of his family, and shar- 
ing in the easy and pleasant conversation, which was pro- 
longed till nine in the evening. 

God has at length heard our prayers,^’ said the chaplain 
to Count Christian and the canoness, who remained in the 
saloon after the departure of the baron and the young 
people. Count Albert has this day entered his thirtieth 
year, and this solemn day, so dreaded by him and by our- 
selves, has passed over calmly and with unspeakable hap- 
piness/’^ 


WN8UBL0. 


187 


Yes, let iis return thanks to God,^^ said the old count. 
‘‘It may prove but a blessed dream, sent for a moment to 
comfort us, but 1 could not help thinking all this day, and 
this evening in particular, that my son was perfectly 
cured/'’ ^ 

“Brother,'’^ replied the canoness, “and you, worthy 
chaplain, I entreat pardon, but you have always believed 
Albert to be tormented by the enemy of human kind. For 
myself, I thought him at issue with opposing powers 
which disputed the possession of his poor soul, for often 
when he repeated words of the bad angel. Heaven spoke 
from his mouth the next moment. Do you recollect what 
he said yesterday evening during the storm, and his words 
on leaving us ? ‘ The peace of God has come down on 
this house.'’ Albert experienced the miracle in himself, 
and I believe in his recovery as in the divine promise.” 

The chaplain was too timid to admit all at once so bold’ 
a proposition. He extricated himself from his embarrass- 
ment by saying : “ Let us ascribe it to Eternal Goodness;” 
“ God reads hidden things “ The soul should lose itself 
in God and other sentences more consolatory than novel. 

Count Christian was divided between the desire of con- 
forming to the somewhat exaggerated asceticism of his 
good sister, and the respect imposed by the prudent and 
unquestioning orthodoxy of his confessor. 

. He endeavored to turn the conversation by speaking of 
the charming demeanor of Porporina. The canoness, who 
loved her already, praised her yet more ; and the chaplain 
sanctioned the preference which they experienced for her. 
It never entered their heads to attribute the miracle which 
had taken place among them to Consuelo. They accepted 
the benefit without recognizing its source. It was what 
Consuelo would have asked of God could she have been 
consulted. 

Amelia was a closer observer. It soon became evident 
to her that her cousin could conceal the disorder of his 
thoughts from persons whom he feared, as well as from 
those whom he wished to please. Before relations and 
friends of the family whom he either disliked or esteemed, 
he never betrayed by any outward demonstration the eccen- 
ti’icity of his character. When Consuelo expressed hersur- 
pj’ise at what .had been related the preceding evening, 
Amelia, tormented by a secret uneasiness, tried to make 


IBS 


CONSUELO, 


her afraid of Count Albert by recitals wbicb bad alread}' 
terrified herself. ‘‘Ah, my poor friend/’ said she, ‘‘dis- 
trust this deceitful calm ; it is a pause which always inter- 
venes between a recent and an approaching crisis. You 
see him to-day as I first saw him, when I arrived here in 
the beginning of last year. Alas ! if you were destined to 
become the wife of such a visionary, and if, to combat 
your reluctance they had determined to keep you prisoner 
for an indefinite period in this frightful castle, with sur- 
prises, terrors, and agitations for your daily fare — nothing 
to be seen but tears, exorcisms and extravagances — expect- 
ing a cure which will never happen — you would be quite 
disenchanted with the fine manners of Albert, and the 
honeyed words of the family.” 

“ It is not credible,” said Consuelo, “ that* they would 
unite you against your will to a man whom you do not 
love. You appear to be the idol of your relatives.” 

“ They will not force me ; they know that would be im- 
possible. But they forget that Albert is not the only hus- 
band who would suit me, and God knows when they will 
give up the foolish hope that the affection with which I at 
first regarded him will return. And then my poor father, 
who has here wherewith to satisfy his passion for the chase, 
finds himself so well off in this horrible castle, that he will 
always discover some pretext for retarding our departure. 
Ah ! if you only knew some secret, my dear Nina, to make, 
all the game in the country perish in one night, you would 
render me an inestimable service.” 

“ I can do nothing, unfortunately, but try to amuse you 
by giving you lessons in music, and chatting with you in 
the evenings when you are not inclined to sleep. I shall 
do my utmost to soothe and to compose you.” 

“ You remind me,” said Amelia, “ that I have not 
related the remainder of the story. I shall begin at once, 
that I may not keep you up too late. 

“ Some days after his mysterioifs absence, which he still 
believed had only lasted seven hours, Albert remarked the 
absence of the abbe, and asked where he had gone. 

“ ‘His presence was no longer necessary,’ they replied ; 
‘he returned to his own pursuits. Did you not observe 
his absence ?’ 

“‘1 perceived,’ replied Albert, ‘that something was 
needful to complete my suffering, but I did not know what 
it was.’ 


CONSUELO. 


189 


^ You suffer much then, Albert?^ asked the canoness. 

‘‘ " Much he replied, in the tone of a man who had 
been asked if he had slept well. 

‘ And the abbe was obnoxious to you ?’ said Count 
Christian. 

<< • Very,^ he replied, in the same tone. 

‘And why, my son, did you not say so sooner ? Why 
have you borne for so long a time the presence of a man 
whom you so much disliked, without informing me of it? 
Do you doubt, my dear child, that I should have quickly 
terminated your sufferings T 

“ ‘ It was but a feeble addition to my grief, ^ said Albert, 
with frightful tranquility; ‘and your goodness, which Ido 
not doubt, my dear father, would have but slightly relieved 
it, by giving me another superintendent.^ 

“ ‘ Say another traveling companion, my son ; you em- 
ploy an expression injurious to my tenderness.^ 

“ ‘ Your tenderness was the cause of your anxiety, my 
father. You could not be aware of the evil you inflicted 
on me in sending me from this house, where it was de- 
signed by Providence I should remain till its. plans for me 
should be accomplished. You thought to labor for my 
cure and repose; but I knew better what was good for ns 
both — I knew that I should obey you — and this duty I 
have fulfllled.^ 

“ ‘ I know your virtue and your affection, Albert ; but 
can you not explain yourself more clearly ?’ 

“ ‘ That is very easy,’ replied Albert; ‘and the time is 
come that I should do so.’ 

“Albert spoke so calmly that we thought the fortunate 
moment bad arrived when his soul should cease to be a 
melancholy enigma. We pressed around him, and en- 
couraged him by our looks and caresses to open his heart 
for the first time in his life. He appeared at length in- 
clined to do so, and spoke as follows: 

“ ‘ You have always looked upon me,’ said he, ‘and still 
continue to look upon me, as in ill-health and a madman. 
Did I not feel for you all infinite respect and affection, I 
should, perhaps, have widened the abyss which separates 
us, and I should have shown you that you are in a world 
of errors and prejudices, while Heaven has given me ac- 
cess to a sphere of light and truth. But you could not 
understand me without giving up what constitutes your 


190 


GONSUELO. 


tranquillity, your security, and your creed. When, borne 
away by my enthusiasm, imprudent words escaped me, I 
soon found I had done you harm in wishing to i‘oot up 
your chimeras and display before your enfeebled eyes the 
burning flame which I bore about with me. All the details 
and habits of your life, all the fibers of your heart, all the 
springs of your intellect, are so bound up together, so 
trammeled with falsehood and darkness, that 1 should but 
seem to inflict death instead of life. There is a voice, 
however, which cries to me in watching and in sleep, in 
calm and in storm, to enlighten and convert you. But I 
am too loving and too weak a man to undertake it. When 
I see your eyes full of tears, your bosoms heave, your fore- 
heads bent down — when I feel that I bring only sorrow and 
terror — I fly, I hide myself, to resist the cry of conscience 
and the commands of destiny. Behold the cause of my 
illness ! Behold my torment, my cross, my suffering! Do 
you understand me now V 

‘‘My uncle, my aunt, and the chaplain, understood this 
much — that Albert had ideas of morality and religion 
totally different from their own ; but, timid as devout, 
they feared to go too far, and dared not encourage his 
frankness. As to myself, I was only imperfectly acquainted 
with the peculiarities of his childhood and youth, and I 
did not at all understand it. Besides, I was at this time 
like yourself, Nina, and knew very little of this Hussitisrn 
and Lutheranism which I have since heard so much of, 
while the controversies between Albert and the chaplain 
overwhelmed me with weariness. I expected a more 
ample explanation, but it did not ensue. ‘1 see,"* said 
Albert, struck with the silence around him, ‘ that you do 
not wish to understand me, for fear of understanding too 
much. Be it so, then. Your blindness has borne bitter 
fruits. Ever unhappy, ever alone, a stranger among those 
I love, I have neither refuge nor stay but in the consola- 
tion which has been promised me.' 

“ ‘ What is this consolation, my son ?’ said Count Christ- 
ian, deeply afflicted. ‘Could it not come from us? Shall 
we never understand each other V 

“ ‘ Never, my father; let us love each other, since that 
alone is permitted. Heaven is my witness, that our im- 
mense and irreparable disagreement has never diminished 
the love I bear you." 


CONSUELO. 


101 


‘ And is not that enough V said the canoness, taking 
one hand, while her brother pressed Albert’s other hand 
in his own. ‘Can you not forget your wild ideas, your 
strange belief, and live fondly in the midst of us ?’ 

I do live on affection,’ replied Albert. ‘ It is a bless- 
ing which produces good or evil, according as our faith is 
a common one or otherwise. Our hearts are in union, 
dep Aunt Wenceslawa, but our intellects are at war ; and 
this is a great misfortune for us all. I know it will not 
end for centuries. Therefore I await the happiness that 
has been promised me, and which gives me power to 
hope on.’ 

“ ‘ What is that blessing, Albert ? can you not tell me ?’ 

“‘No, I cannot tell you, because I do not know. My 
mother has not allowed a week to pass without announcing 
it to me in my sleep, and all the voices of the forest have 
repeated it to me as often as I have questioned them. An 
angel often hovers above the Stone of Terror, and shows me 
his pale and luminous face, at that ominous place, under 
the shade of that oak, where, when my contemporaries 
called me Ziske, I was transported with the anger of the 
Lord, and became for the first time the instrument of 
his vengeance; at the foot of that rock, where, when I 
called myself Wratislaw, I saw the mutilated and dis- 
figured head of my father Withold stricken off by one blow 
of a saber — a fearful expiation, which taught me to know 
sorrow and pity — a day of fatal retribution, when the 
Lutheran blood washed away the Catholic blood, and made 
me a weak and tender man in the place of the man of 
fanaticism and destruction, which I had been a hundred 
years before ’ 

“ ‘Divine goodness!’ said my aunt, crossing herself, ‘his 
madness has seized him again!’ 

“ ‘ Do not interrupt him, sister,’ said Count Christian, 
making a great effort, ‘let him explain himself. Speak, 
my son, what did the angel say to you upon the Stone of 
Terror?’ 

“‘He told me that my consolation was near,’ replied 
Albert, his face glowing with enthusiasm, ‘and that it 
would descend upon my heart as soon as 1 had completed 
my twenty-ninth year!’ 

“ My uncle dropped his head upon his breast. Albert 
seemed to allude to his death, in designating the age at 


192 


CONSUELO, 


which his mother died, and it appears she had often pre- 
dicted that neither she nor her son would reach the age 
of thirty. It seems that my aunt Wanda was also some- 
what visionary, to say the least; but I have never been able 
to obtain any precise information on this subject. It is a 
very sad recollection to my uncle, and no one about him 
dares to awaken it. 

‘‘'The chaplain endeavored to banish the unpleasant feel- 
ing which this prediction had occasioned, by leading 
Albert to explain himself respecting the abbe. It was on 
that point the conversation had begun. 

“ Albert on his side made a great effort to answer him. 
‘I speak to you of things divine and eternal,^ replied he, 
after a little hesitation, ‘and you recall to my mind the 
short and fleeting concerns of time — those childish and 
ephemeral cares, the record of which is almost effaced 
within me.’ 

“‘Speak, my son, speak!’ returned Count Christian; 
‘ we must strive to know you this day.’ 

“‘You have never known me, father,’ replied Albert, 
‘ and you will not know me in what you call this life. But 
if you wish to know why I traveled, why L endured that 
unfaithful and careless guardian, whom you had attached 
to my steps like a greedy and lazy dog to the arm of a blind 
man, I will tell you in a few words. I had caused you 
enough of suffering. It was my duty to withdraw from 
your sight, a son rebellious to your teachings and deaf to 
your remonstrances. I knew well that I should not be 
cured of what you called my insanity, but you required 
both repose and hope, and I consented to remove myself. 
You exacted from me a promise that I would not separate, 
without your consent, from the guide you had given me, 
and that I would permit myself to be conducted by him 
over the world. I wished to keep my promise. I wished 
also that he should sustain your hope and your confidence, 
by giving you an account of rny gentleness and patience. 
I was gentle and patient. I closed my heart and my ears 
against him ; he had tlie sagacity not even to think of 
opening them. He led me about, dressed me, and fed me 
like a child. I renounced the idea of fulfilling the duties 
of life as I thought they ought to be fulfilled. I accus- 
tomed myself to see misery, injustice, and folly reign upon 
.the earth. I have seen men and their institutions, and 


GONSUELO. 


193 


indignation has given place to pity in my heart, for I have 
seen that the misfortunes of the oppressed were less than 
those of their oppressors. In my childhood I loved only 
the victims: now I feel charity for the executioners — mel- 
ancholy penitents, who endure in this generation the pun- 
ishment of crimes which they have committed in former 
existences, and whom God condemns to be wicked, a suffer- 
ing which is a thousand times more cruel than that of being 
their innocent prey. This is why I now give alms only to 
relieve myself personally from the weight of riches, with- 
out tormenting you with my sermonizing — knowing, as I 
now do, that the time has not yet come for happiness, 
since the time for being good, to speak the language of 
men, is still far off.'’ 

‘‘ ^ And now that you are delivered from this superin- 
tendent, as you call him, now that you can live tranquilly, 
without having before your eyes the spectacle of miseries 
which you extinguish one by one about you, without being 
resti’ained by any one in your generous disposition, can 
you not make an effort to banish these mental disquietudes?’ 

^ Do not ask me any more questions, my dear parents,’ 
replied Albert; ‘I shall not speak any more to-day.’ 

^Tle kept his word and even more; for he did not open 
his lips for a whole week. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

^'Albert’s history will be concluded in a few words, my 
dear Porporina, because, unless I repeat what you have 
already heard, I have not much more to tell you. The 
conduct of my cousin during the eighteen months which I 
have passed here, has been a continual repetition of the 
extravagancies of which I have informed you. Only 
Albert’s pretended recollection of what he had been, and 
what he had seen, in past ages, assumed an appearance of 
frightful reality, when he began to manifest a peculiar and 
truly wonderful faculty of which you may have heard, but 
in which I did not believe until I saw the proofs he gave 
of it. This faculty is called, I am told, in other countries, 
the second sight; and those who possess it are objects of 
great veneration among superstitious people. As for me, 


194 


CONSTTELO. 


who know not what to think of it, and will not undertake 
to give you a reasonable explanation, it only adds an addi- 
tional motive to deter me from becoming the wife of a man 
who could see all my actions, even if I were a hundred 
leagues oti, and who could almost read my thoughts. Such 
a wife ought to be at least a saint, and how could she be 
one with a man who seems to have made a compact with 
Satan ?” 

You have the happy privilege of being able to jest on 
every subject, said Consuelo; wonder at the cheerful- ' 
ness with which you speak of things which make my hair 
stand on end. In what does this second sight consist?’^ 

Albert sees and hears what no one else can see and 
hear. When a person whom he loves is coming, although 
no one expects him, Albert announces his approach, and 
goes to meet him an hour beforehand. In the same way 
also he retires and shuts himself up in his chamber, when 
he feels that any one whom he dislikes is about to visit us. 

One day when he was walking with my father in a by- 
path on the mountains, he suddenly stopped and made a 
wide circuit through rocks and brushwood, in order not to 
pass near a certain place, which nevertheless presented 
nothing peculiar in its appearance. They returned by the 
same path a few moments after, and Albert again took the 
same precaution. My father, who observed this movement, 
pretended to have lost something, and endeavored to draw 
him to the foot of a cedar which appeared to be the object 
of his repugnance. Not only did Albert avoid approaching 
it, but he affected even not to walk upon the shadow 
which the tree cast over the path; and while my father 
passed and repassed under it, he manifested extraordinary 
uneasiness and anguish. At last, my father having 
stopped altogether at the foot of the tree, Albert uttered a 
cry and hastily called him back. But he refused for a 
long time to explain himself respecting this fancy, and it 
was only when overcome by the prayers of the whole fam- 
ily, that he declared that the tree marked the place of a 
burial, and that a great crime had been committed on this 
spot. The chaplain thought that if Albert knew of any 
murder which had formerly been committed in that place, 
it was his duty to inform him of it, in order to give Chris- 
tian burial to the abandoned bones. 

' Take care what you do,^ said Albert, with an air at 


CONfitTELO. 


195 


the same time sad and ironicah which he often assumes. 
‘ The man, woman, and child whom you will find there 
were Hussites, and it was the drunkard Wenceslas who had 
their throats cut by his soldiers one night when he was 
concealed in our woods, and was afraid of being observed 
and betrayed by them.^ 

‘‘Nothing more was said to my cousin respecting this 
circumstance. But my uncle, who wished to know if it 
was an inspiration, or merely a caprice on his part, caused 
.a search to be made during the night at the place which 
my father pointed out. They found the skeletons of 
a man, a woman, and a'child. The man was covered with 
one of those enormous wooden shields which the Hussites 
carried, and which are easily recognized by the chalice en- 
graved upon them, with this device in Latin around it : 
‘ 0 Deathy how hitter is thy coming to the iviched ; hut re- 
freshing to him lohose actions have been just, and directed 
with reference to thee E * 

“ The bones were transferred to a more retired spot in 
the forest, and when, several days after, Albert passed the 
foot of the cedar a second time, my father remarked that 
he manifested no repugnance at walking on the place, 
which nevertheless had been again covered with stones and 
sand, and in which nothing appeared changed. He did 
not even remember the emotion he experienced on that oc- 
casion, and had some difficulty in recalling it to his mind 
on its being mentioned. 

“‘You must be mistaken,^ said he to my father, ‘and 
I must have been warned in some other place. I am cer- 
tain there is nothing here, for I feel no cold, nor pain, nor 
shivering!^ 

“ My aunt was inclined to attribute this power of divi- 
nation to the special favor of Providence; but Albert is so 
melancholy, so tormented,- so unhappy, that one can 
hardly think Providence would have bestowed on him so 
fatal a gift. If I believed in the devil, I. should much 
sooner embrace the supposition of our chaplain, who 
charges all Albert’s hallucinations to his account. My 
uncle Christian, who is a more sensible man, and firmer 

* “ 0 Morsquamest amara memoria tua liominihus injustis^ mro 
quieto svjus omnes res flunt ordinate et ad hoc.” This sentence is taken 
from the Bible. But there the rich are named instead of the wicked, 
and the poor instead of the just. 


196 


CONSUELO. 


in his religious belief than any of tlie rest of us, explains 
many of these things very reasonably. He believes that, 
notwithstanding the pains taken by the Jesuits during and 
after the Thirty Years’ War, to burn all the heretical writ- 
ings in Bohemia, and particularly those which were found 
at the Castle of the Giants, notwithstanding the minute 
searches made by the chaplain in every corner after the 
death of my aunt Wanda, some historical documents of the 
time of the Hussites must have remained concealed in a 
secret place unknown to every body, and Albert must have 
found them. He thinks that the reading of those danger- 
ous papers has vividly impressed his diseased imagination, 
and that he attributes to a supernatural recollection of pre- 
vious existences upon earth, the impression which he then 
received of many details now unknown, but minutely de- 
tailed in these manuscripts. The stories he relates to us 
can thus be naturally explained, as well as his otherwise 
inexplicable disappearances for days and whole weeks ; 
for it is as well to inform you that these have been 
repeated several times, and it is impossible to suppose tliey 
can be accomplished out of the chateau. Every time he 
lias so disappeared it has been impossible to discover him, 
and we are certain that no peasant has ever given him 
refuge or nourishment. We know to a certainty that he 
has fits of lethargy which keep him confined to his 
chamber whole days. Whenever the door is broken 
open and much noise made around him, he falls into con- 
vulsions. Therefore they take good care not to do 
this, but leave him to his trance. At such moments 
extraordinary things certainly take place in his mind ; but 
no sound, no outward agitation betrays them, and we are 
only informed of them afterward by his conversations. 
When he recovers from diis state, he appears relieved and 
restored to reason ; but by degrees the agitation returns 
and goes on increasing, until it overpowers him. It would 
seem that he foresees the duration of these crises ; for 
when they are about to be long, he goes to a distance, or 
conceals himself in some lurking-place, which, it is sup- 
posed, must be a grotto of the mountain, or a subterranean 
chamber in the chateau, known to him alone. Hitherto 
no one has been able to discover it, and any attempt to do 
so is the more difficult, as we cannot watch him, and he is 
made dangerously ill if any one follows him, observes him, 


CONSUELO. 


197 


or even questions him. It has been therefore thought best 
to leave him entirely free, since we have come to regard 
these absences, which were at the commencement so ter- 
rifying, as favorable crises in his malady. When they 
occur, my aunt sutlers the most acute anxiety, and my 
uncle prays, but nobody stirs ; and as to myself, I can 
assure you I am growing very insensible on the subject. 
Anxiety has been succeeded by ennui and disgust, and I 
would rather die than marry this maniac. I admit his 
noble qualities ; but though it may seem to you that I 
ought to disregard his phantasies, since they are the effect 
of his malady, I confess that they irritate me, and are a 
thorn in my life and that of my family. 

That seems to me somewhat unjust, dear baroness, 
said Consuelo. That you have a repugnance to becom- 
ing Count Albertis wife I can now understand very well ; 
but that you should lose your interest in him, I confess I 
do not understand at all.^' 

It is because I cannot drive from my mind the idea 
that there is something voluntary in the poor man^s mad- 
ness. It is certain that he has great force of character, 
and that on a thousand occasions he has considerable con- 
trol over himself. He can put off the attacks of his 
malady at will. I have seen him master them with much 
power, when those around him did not seem inclined to 
consider them in a serious light. On the contrary, when- 
ever he sees us disposed to credulity and fear, he appears 
to wish to produce an effect on us by his extravagancies, 
and to abuse our weakness toward him. This is why I 
feel annoyed, and frequently long for his patron Beelzebub 
to come for him at once, that we may be freed from his 
presence.’^ 

These are very severe witticisms,’^ said Consuelo, 
respecting so unhappy a being, and one whose mental 
malady seems to me more poetical and marvelous than 
repulsive.” 

As you please, dear Porporina,” returned Amelia. 
Admire these sorceries as much as you will, if you can 
believe in them. As for me, I look upon such things in 
the same light as our chaplain, who recommends his soul 
to God, and does not take any pains to understand them. 
I take refuge in the arms of reason, and excuse myself 
from explaining what X am sure must be capable of a 


198 


CONSUELO. 


very natural explanation, though at present unknown to 
us. The only thing certain in my cousin^s miserable lot 
is, that his reason has entirely disappeared, and that 
imagination has whirled him to such a distance from earth 
that all his sight and sense are gone. And since I must 
speak plainly, and use the word which my poor uncle 
Christian was obliged to utter with tears, at the knees of 
the Empress Maria-Theresa, who is not to be satisfied with 
half answers or half explanations — in one word, Albert of 
Kudolstadt is mad ; or in'sane, if you consider that epithet 
more polite. 

Consuelo only answered by a deep sigh. At that in- 
stant Amelia seemed to her to be a very hateful person, 
and to have a heart of iron. She tried to excuse her in 
her own eyes, by reflecting upon what she must have suf- 
fered during eighteen months of a life so sad, and filled 
with such painful emotions. Then returning to her own 
misfortune, ‘^AhP thought she, why cannot I place 
Anzoleto’s fault to the score of madness? If he had fallen 
into delirium in the midst of the intoxications and decep- 
tions of his first appearance on the stage, I feel that I 
should not have loved him any less ; I should only require 
to know that his unfaithfulness and ingratitude proceeded 
from insanity, to adore him as before and fly to his 
assistance.^’ 

Several days passed without Albert’s giving, either by his 
manner or his conversation, the least confirmation of his 
cousin’s assertions respecting the derangement of his mind ; 
but one day the chaplain having unintentionally contra- 
dicted him, he began to utter some incoherent sentences, 
and then, as if he were himself sensible of it, rushed 
hastily out of the saloon and ran to shut himself up in his 
chamber. They thought he would remain there a long 
time ; but an hour afterward, he re-entered, pale and 
languishing, dragged himself from chair to chair, moved 
around Consuelo without seeming to pay any more atten- 
tion to her than on other days, and ended by seeking 
refuge in the deep embrasure of a window, where he leaned 
his head on his hands, and remained perfectly motionless. 

It was the hour of Amelia’s music lesson, and she ex- 
pressed a wish to take it, in order, as she said in a low 
voice to Consuelo, to drive away that gloomy figure which 
destroyed all her gaiety, and diffused a sepulchral odor 
through the apartment. 


OOMUElO. 


199 


"'I think/' replied Consuelo, "^hat we had better go up 
to your apartment ; your spinet will do for the accompani- 
ment. If it be true that Count Albert does not like 
music, why augment his sufferings, and consequently 
those of his family?" 

Amelia yielded to this last consideration, and they 
ascended together to her apartment, the door of which 
they left Open, because they found it a little smoky. 
Amelia, as usual, wished to go on in her own way, with 
showy and brilliant cavatinas, but Consuelo, who began to 
show herself strict, made her try several simple and serious 
airs, taken from the religious "songs of Palestrina. The 
young baroness yawned, became impatient, and declared 
that the music was barbarous, and would send her to sleep. 

That is because you do not understand it," said Con- 
suelo. ‘^Let me sing some passages, to show you that it 
is admirably written for a voice, besides being sublime and 
lofty in its character." 

She seated herself at the spinet, and began to sing. It 
was the first time she had awakened the echoes of the ok] 
chdteau, and she found the bare and lofty walls so admir- 
ably adapted for sound, that she gave herself up entirely 
to the pleasure which she experienced. Her voice, long 
mute, since the last evening when she sang at San Samuel 
— that evening when she fainted, broken down by fatigue 
and sorrow — instead of being impaired by so much suffer- 
ing and agitation, was more beautiful, more marvelous, 
more thrilling than ever. Amelia was at the same time 
transported and affrighted. She was at length beginning 
to understand that she did not know any thing, and that 
perhaps she never could learn any thing, when the pale 
and pensive figure of Albert suddenly appeared, in the 
middle of the apartment, in front of the two young girls, 
and remained motionless and apparently deeply moved 
until the end of the piece. It was only then that Con- 
suelo perceived him, and was somewhat terrified. But 
Albert, falling on his knees, and raising toward her his 
large dark eyes, swimming in tears, exclaimed in Spanish, 
without the least German accent, 0 Consuelo! Con- 
suelo! I have at last found thee!" 

Consuelo?" cried the astonished girl, expressing her- 
self in the same language. ^‘Why, senor, do you call me 
by that name?" 


m 


CONSVELO, 


call ydli Consolation/^ replied Albert, still speaking 
in Spanish, because a consolation has been promised to 
my desolate life, and because you are that consolation 
which God at last grants to my solitary and gloomy ex- 
istence/' 

I did not think," said Amelia, with suppressed rage, 
^^tliat music could have produced so prodigious an effect 
on my dear cousin. Nina's voice is formed to accomplish 
wonders, I confess; but I may remark to both of you, that 
it would be more polite toward me, and more according 
to general etiquette, to use a language which I can under- 
stand." 

Albert appeared not to have heard a word of what his be- 
trothed had said. He remained on his knees, looking at 
Consuelo with indescribable surprise and transport, and 
rej^eating in a tender voice, ‘‘Consuelo! Consuelo!” 

“But what is it he calls you?" said Amelia, somewhat 
pettishly, to her companion. 

“He is asking me for a Spanish air, which I do not 
know," said Consuelo, much agitated; “but I think we 
had better stop, for music seems to affect him deeply to- 
day." And she rose to retire. 

“Consuelo!" repeated Albert, in Spanish, “if you leave 
me, my life is at an end, and I will never return to earth 
again!" Saying this, he fell at her feet in a swoon, and 
the two young girls, terrified, called the servants to carry 
him to his apartment, and endeavor to restore him to con- 
sciousness. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Count Albert was laid softly upon his bed; and while 
one of the two domestics who had carried him searched 
for the chaplain, who was a sort of a family physician, 
and the other for Count Christian, who had given orders 
that he should always be called at the least indisposition 
of his son, the two young girls, Amelia and Consuelo, 
went in quest of the canoness. But before either of these 
persons could reach the bedside of the invalid, although they 
made all possible haste, Albert had disappeared. They 
found his door open, his bed scarcely marked by the mo- 
mentary repose he had taken, and his chamber in its ac- 


C0N8UEL0. 


201 


customed order. They sought him everywhere, but, as 
always happened in similar cases, without the slightest 
success; after which the family sank into the sort of 
gloomy resignation of which Amelia had spoken to Con- 
suelo, and seemed to await with that silent terror which 
they had learned to suppress, the always hoped for and al- 
ways uncertain return of this singular young man. 

Although Consuelo could have wished to avoid inform- 
ing Albertis parents of the strange scene which had ac- 
curred in Amelia’s apartment, the latter did not fail to 
relate the whole, and to depict in vivid colors the sudden 
and violent effects which Porporina’s singing had pro- 
duced upon her cousin. 

‘^Then it is very certain that music affects him unfavor- 
ably,” replied the chaplain. 

^‘In that case,” replied Consuelo, I will take good 
care he shall not hear me; and when I am engaged with 
the young baroness, we will shut ourselves up so closely 
that no sound can reach Count Albert’s ears.” 

That will be a great annoyance to you, my dear young 
lady,” said the canoness ; ^^ah! it is not my fault that 
your residence here is not more agreeable.” 

^‘1 wish to share both your sorrows and your joys,” re- 
turned Consuelo, ^^and I ask no higher satisfaction than 
to be made a partaker of them by your confidence and 
your friendship.” 

‘‘You are a noble girl!” said the canoness, extend- 
ing to her a long hand, dry and polished as yellow 
ivory. “But listen,” added she; “I do not believe that 
music really does harm to my dear Albert. From what 
Amelia has related of this morning’s occurrence, I im- 
agine on the contrary that he experienced too vivid 
a delight, and perhaps his suffering arose from the 
too sudden cessation of your lovely melodies. What 
did he say to you in Spanish? That is a language which 
he speaks perfectly well, as he does many others which he 
learned in his travels with surprising facility. When we 
ask him how he can retain so many different languages, he 
answers that he knew them before he was born, and that 
he merely recalls them — this one, because he spoke it 
twelve hundred years ago, and another, alas ! for aught I 
know, when he was at the Crusades. As we must conceal 
nothing from you, dear signora, you will hear strange 


202 


CONSUELO. 


accounts of what he calls his anterior existences. But 
translate to me in our German, which you already speak so 
well, the meaning of the words which he said to you in 
your language, with which none of us here are acquainted.'’^ 

Oonsuelo at that moment felt an embarrassment for 
which she could not account. Nevertheless she thought it 
best to tell nearly the whole truth, and explained that 
Albert had requested her to go on playing, and not to 
leave him, since she gave him much consolation. 

^^Consolation!” cried the quick-witted Amelia. ^^Did 
he use that word? You know, aunt, how significant it is 
in my cousin’s mouth.” 

It is, in fact, a word which he has frequently on his 
lips,” replied Wenceslawa, ‘^and which seems to have a 
prophetic meaning for him ; but I see nothing on this oc- 
casion which could render the use of such a word other 
than perfectly natural.” 

But what was that which he repeated so often, dear 
Porporina ?” returned Amelia, pertinaciously. He 
seemed to repeat a particular word to you many times, but 
from my agitation I am not able to remember what it was.” 

I did not understand it myself,” replied Oonsuelo, 
making a great effort to tell a falsehood. 

‘^My dear Nina,” said Amelia to her in a whisper, '^you 
are quick-witted and prudent; as for me, who am not alto- 
gether stupid, I think I understand very well that you are 
the mystic consolation promised by the vision to Albert in 
his thirtieth year. Do not think to conceal from me that 
you understood this even better than I did; it is a celestial 
mission of which I am not jealous.” 

Listen, dear Porporina,” said the canoness, after hav- 
ing reflected for a few minutes; we have always thought 
that Albert, when he disappeared from among us in a 
manner which might almost be called magical, was con- 
cealed in some place not far off — in the house perhaps — 
thanks to some retreat of which he alone has the secret. I 
know not why, but it seems to me that if you would sing 
at this moment he would hear you and come to us.” 

"" If I thought so ” said Oonsuelo, ready to obey. 

But if Albert is near us, and the effect of music should 
be to increase his aberration ?” remarked the jealous 
Amelia. . 

“ Well,” said Count Christian, must make the trial. 


COWSUELO. 


203 


I have heard that the incomparable Farinelli had the power 
of dissipating by his voice the gloomy melancholy of the 
king of Spain, as young David had that of calming the fury 
of Saul by his harp. Try, generous Porporina; so pure a 
soul as yours must exercise a salutary influence on all 
around it.” 

Consuelo, much moved, seated herself at the harpsichord 
and sang a Spanish hymn in honor of Our Lady of Conso- 
lation, which her mother had taught her when a child, and 
which began with these words, Consuelo de mi alma, 

Consolation of my soul,” etc. -She sang with so pure a 
voice, and with so much unaffected piety, that her hosts of 
the old manor-house almost forgot the object of their 
anxieties, and gave themselves up to sentiments of hope 
and of faith. A profound silence reigned both within and 
without the chateau ; the doors and windows had been 
opened in order that Consuelo’s voice might reach as far as 
possible, and the moon with her pale and trembling light 
illumined the embrasures of the vast windows. All was 
calm, and a sort of religious serenity succeeded to the an- 
guish they had felt, when a deep sigh, as if breathed forth 
from a human breast, responded to the last sounds uttered 
by Consuelo. The sigh was so distinct and so prolonged, 
that all present, even Baron Frederick, who, half awake, 
turned his head as if some one had called him, heard it. 
All turned pale and looked at each other, as if to say, It 
was not I; was it you?” Amelia could not repress a cry, 
and Consuelo, to whom it seemed as if the sigh proceeded 
from some one at her very side, though she was seated at 
the harpsichord apart from the rest of the family, felt so 
alarmed that she could not utter a word. 

‘‘Divine goodness!” said the terrified canoness, “did 
you hear that sigh which seemed to come from the depths 
of the earth?” 

“ Say rather, aunt,” cried Amelia, “ that it passed over 
our heads like the breath of night.” 

“ Some owl, attracted by the light, must have flown 
across the apartment while we were absorbed by the music, 
and we have heard the fluttering of its wings at the 
moment it flew out through the window.” Such was the 
opinion put forward by the chaj^lain, whose teeth never- 
theless chattered with fear. 

“ Perhaps it was Albert’s dog,” said Count Christian 


204 


CONSUELO. 


Cynabre is not here,” replied Amelia. ‘‘ Wherever 
Albert is, Cynabre is always with him. Some one certainly 
sighed here strangely. If I dared -to go to tlie window, I 
would see if any one were listening in the garden; but even 
if my life depended on it, I have not strength sufficient. 

“ For a person so devoid of prejudices,” said Consuelo to 
her in a low voice, and forcing a smile, ^^for a little 
French philosopher, you are not very brave, my dear bar- 
oness; I will try to be more so.” 

Do not go, my dear,” replied Amelia aloud, nor pre- 
tend to be valiant, for you are as pale as death, and will 
be ill.” 

“ What childish fancies, my dear Amelia!” said Count 
Christian, advancing toward the window with a grave and 
firm step. He looked out, saw no one, closed the sash calmly, 
and said, “It seems that real evils are not keen enough 
for the ardent imaginations of women; they must add to 
them the creations of their own brains, always too 
ingenious in searching for causes of suffering. Certainly 
that sigh had nothing mysterious in it; some one of us, 
affected by the beautiful voice and the wonderful talent of 
the signora, must have breathed forth his admiration un- 
wittingly. Perhaps it was myself, and yet I was not 
sensible of it. Ah? Porporina, if you should not succeed 
in curing Albert, at least you know how to pour celestial 
balm on wounds as deep as his.” 

The words of this pious old man, always wise and calm 
in the midst of the domestic misfortunes which over- 
whelmed him, were in themselves a celestial balm, and 
Consuelo felt their healing effect. She was tempted to 
throw herself on her knees before him, and ask his bless- 
ing; as she had received that of Porpora on leaving him, 
and that of Marcello on that bright and sunny day of her 
life, which had been the commencement of an uninter- 
rupted succession of misfortunes. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Several days passed over without their hearing any news 
of Count Albert ; and Consuelo, to whom this position of 
t hings appeared dismal in the extreme, was astonished to 
m the Rudolstadt family bear so frightful a state of un- 


GONSUELO, 


205 


certainty without evincing either despair or even im- 
patience. Familiarity with the most cruel anxieties 
produces a sort of apparent apathy, or else real hardness 
of heart, which wounds and almost irritates those minds 
whose sensibility has not yet been blunted by long-con- 
tinued misfortune. Consuelo, a prey to a sort of night- 
mare in the midst of these doleful impressions and 
inexplicable occurrences, was astonished to see that the 
order of the house was hardly disturbed, that the canoness 
was equally vigilant, the baron equally eager for the chase, 
the chaplain regular as ever in the same devotional 
exercises, and Amelia gay and trifling as usual. The 
cheerful vivacity of the latter was what particularly 
offended Consuelo. She could not conceive how the 
baroness could laugh and play, while she herself could 
hardly read or work with her needle. .The canoness, how- 
ever, employed herself in embroidering an altar front for 
the chapel of the castle. It was a masterpiece of patience, 
exquisite workmanship, and neatness. Hardly had she 
made the tour of the house, when she returned to seat her- 
self at her work, were it only to add a few stitches, while 
waiting to be called by new cares to the barns, tlie kitchens, 
or the cellars. One should have seen with how much 
importance these little concerns were treated, and how 
that diminutive creature hurried along, at a pace always 
regular, always dignified and measured, but never 
slackened, through all tlie corners of her little empire; 
crossing a thousand times each day in every direction the 
narrow and monotonous surface of her domestic domain. 
What also seemed strange to Consuelo was the respect and 
admiration which the family and country in general 
attached to this indefatigable housekeeping — a pursuit 
which the old lady seemed to have embraced with such 
ardor and jealous observance. To see her parsimoniously 
regulating the most trifling affairs, one would have thought 
her covetous and distrustful ; and yet on important 
occasions she displayed a soul deeply imbued with noble 
and generous sentiments. But these excellent qualities, 
esi^ecially her maternal tenderness, which gave her in 
Oonsuelo’s eyes so sympathizing and venerable an air, 
would not of themselves have been sufficient in the eyes of 
the others to elevate her to the rank of the heroine of the 
family. She required, besides, the far more important 


206 


comuEZo. 


qualification of a scrupulous attention to the trifling 
details of tlie household, to cause her to be appreciated for 
what she really was, notwithstanding what has been said, 
a woman of strong sense and high moral feeling. Not a 
day passed that Count Christian, the baron, or the chaplain, 
did not repeat every time she turned her back, How 
much wisdom, how much courage, how much strength of 
mind does the canoness display Amelia herself, not 
distinguishing the true and ennobling purpose of life, in 
the midst of the puerilities which, under another form, 
constituted the whole of hers, did not venture to disparage 
her aunt under this point of view, the only one that, in 
Consuelo’s eyes, cast a shadow upon the bright light which 
shone from the poor and loving soul of the hunchback 
Wenceslawa. To the zingarella, born upon the high- 
way and thrown hqjpless on the world, without any other 
master or any other protection than her own genius, so 
much care, so much activity and intensity of thought to 
produce such miserable results as the preservation and 
maintenance of certain objects and certain provisions, 
appeared a monstrous perversion of the understanding. 
She, who possessed none and desired none of the world's 
riches, was grieved to see a lovely and generous soul 
voluntarily extinguish itself in the business of acquiring 
wheat, wine, wood, hemp, cattle, and furniture. If they 
had offered her all these goods, so much desired by the 
greater part of mankind, she would have asked, instead, a 
moment of her former happiness, her rags, the clear and 
lovely sky above her head, her fresh young love and her 
liberty upon the lagunes of Venice — all that was stamped 
on her memory in more and more glowing colors, in pro- 
portion as she receded from that gay and laughing horizon 
to penetrate into the frozen sphere which is called real 
life! 

She felt her heart sink in her bosom when at nightfall 
she saw the old canoness, followed by Hans, take an 
immense bunch of keys, and make the circuit of all the 
buildings and all the courts, closing the least openings, 
and examining the smallest recesses into which an evil- 
doer could have crept ; as if no one could sleep in 
security within those formidable walls, until the water 
of the torrent, which was restrained behind a neigh- 
boring parapet, had rushed roaring into the trenches of 


GOmUELO. 


207 


the chdteau, while in addition the gates were locked and 
the drawbridge raised. Oonsuelo had so often slept, in her 
distant wanderings by the roadside, with no covering save 
her mother’s torn cloak thrown over her for shelter ! She 
had so often welcomed the dawn upon the snowy flagstones 
of Venice, washed by the waves, without having a mo- 
ment’s fear for her modesty, the only riches she cared to 
preserve! Alas I” said she, ''how unhappy are these 
people in having so many things to take care of I Security 
is the aim of their pursuits by day and night, and so care- 
fully do they seek it, that they have no time to find or 
enjoy it.” Like Amelia, therefore, she already pined in 
her gloomy prison — that dark and somber Castle of the 
Giants, where the sun himself seemed afraid to penetrate. 
But while the young baroness only thought of fetes, of 
dresses, and whispering suitors, Oonsuelo dreamed of wan- 
dering beside her native wave-washed shores — a thicket or 
a fisher-boat for her palace, the boundless heavens for her 
covering, and the starry firmament to gaze on! 

Forced by the cold of the climate and the closing of the 
castle gates to change the Venetian custom which she had 
retained, of watching during a part of the night and rising 
late in the morning, she at last succeeded, after many 
hours of sleeplessness, agitation, and melancholy dreams, 
in submitting to the savage law of the cloister, and recom- 
pensed herself by undertaking, alone, several morning 
walks in the neighboring mountain. The gates were 
opened and the bridges lowered at the first dawn of day, 
and while Amelia, secretly occupied in reading novels dur- 
ing a part of the night, slept until awakened by the first 
breakfast bell, Porporina sallied forth to breathe the 
fresh air and brush the early dew from the herbage of the 
forest. One morning as she descended softly on tiptoe, in 
order to awaken no one, she mistook the direction she 
ought to take among the numberless staircases and inter- 
minable corridors of the chateau, with which she was* 
hardly yet acquainted. Lost in a labyrinth of galleries 
and passages, she traversed a sort of vestibule, which she 
did not recognize, imagining she should find an exit to 
the garden by that way. But she merely reached the 
entrance of a little chapel built in a beautiful but antique 
style, and dimly lighted from above by a circular window 
of stained glass in the vaulted ceiling, which threw a 


208 


GONSUELO, 


feeble light upon the center of the pavement, and left 
the extremities of the building in mysterious gloom. The 
sun was still below the horizon, and the morning gray and 
foggy. At first Consuelo thought herself in the chapel of 
the chateau, where she had heard mass the preceding 
Monday. She knew that the chapel opened upon the 
gardens; but before crossing it to go out, she wished to 
honor the sanctuary of prayer, and knelt upon the first 
step of the altar. But, as it often happens to artists to be 
preoccupied with outward objects in spite of their attempts 
to ascend into the sphere of abstract ideas, her prayer 
could not absorb her sufficiently to prevent her casting a 
glance of curiosity around her; and she soon perceived that 
she was not in the chapel, but in a place to which she had 
not before penetrated. It was neither the same shrine nor 
the same ornaments. Although this unknown chaj^el was 
very small, she could hardly as yet distinguish objects 
around her; but what struck Consuelo most was a marble 
statue kneeling before the altar, in tliat cold and severe 
attitude in which all figures on tombs were formerly repre- 
sented. She concluded that she was in a place reserved 
for the sepulchers of some distinguished ancestors, and, 
having become somewhat fearful and superstitious since 
her residence in Bohemia, she shortened her prayer and 
rose to retire. 

But at that moment when she cast a last timid look 
at the figure which was kneeling ten paces from her, she 
distinctly saw the statue unclasp its hands of stone, and 
slowly make the sign of the cross, as it uttered a deep 
sigh. 

Consuelo almost fell backward, and yet she could not 
withdraw her haggard eyes from that terrible statue. What 
confirmed her in the belief that it was a figure of stone 
was that it did not appear to hear the cry of terror which 
escaped from her, and that it replaced its two large white 
, hands one upon the other, without seeming to have the 
least connection with the outer world. 


CONSUELO, 


209 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

If the ingenious and imaginative Anne Radcliffe had 
found herself in the place of the candid and unskillful 
narrator of this ‘veracious history, she would not have 
allowed so good an opportunity to escape, of leading you, 
fair reader, through corridors, trap-doors, spiral staircases, 
and subterranean passages, for half a dozen flowery and 
attractive volumes, to reveal to you only at the seventh, 
all the arcana of her skillful labors. 'But the strong- 
minded reader, whom it is our duty to please, would not 
probably lend herself so willingly, at the present period, to 
the innocent stratagem of the romancer. Besides, as it 
might be difficult to make her believe them, we will tell 
her as soon as possible the solution of all our enigmas. 
And to explain two of them at once, w^e will confess that 
Consuelo, after some moments of cool observation, recog- 
nized in the animated statue before her eyes, the old 
Count Christian, who was mentally reciting his morning 
prayers in his oratory, and in the sigh of compunction 
which unwittingly escaped from him, the same unearthly 
sigh which she thought she had heard close beside her, on 
the evening when she sang the hymn to Our Lady of Con- 
solation. 

A little ashamed of her terror, Consuelo remained rooted 
to her place by respect, and by the fear of disturbing so 
fervent a prayer. Nothing could be more solemn or more 
touching than to see that old man, prostrate upon the 
stone pavement, offering his heart to God at the opening 
of the day, and plunged in a sort of celestial ecstasy which 
appeared to close his senses to all perception of the out- 
ward world. His noble features did not betray any emo- 
tion of grief. A gentle breeze penetrating by the door 
which Consuelo had left open, agitated the semi-circle of 
silvery hair which still remained upon the back part of 
his head, and his broad forehead, bald to the very summit, 
had the yellow and polished appearance of old marble. 
Clothed in an old-fashioned dressing-gown of white woolen 
stuff, which somewhat resembled a rnonk^s frock, and which 
fell in large, stiff, heavy folds about his attenuated person, 
he had all the appearance of a monumental statue; and after 
he had resumed his immovable position, Consuelo was 


210 


C0N8UEL0. 


obliged to look at him a second time, in order not to fall 
again into her former illusion. 

After having contemplated him for some time with at- 
tention, placing herself a little on one side to see him bet- 
ter, she asked herself, as if involuntarily, while still lost in 
admiration and emotion, if the kind of prayer which this 
old man addressed to God was efficacious for the restoration 
of his unhappy son, and if a soul so passively submissive to 
the letter of his religious tenets, and to the rough decrees 
of destiny, had ever possessed the warmth, the intelligence, 
and the zeal which Albert required from a father’s love. 
Albert too had a mystic soul; he also had led a devout and 
contemplative life; but from all that Amelia had related 
to Consuelo, and from what she had remarked with her 
own eyes during the few days she had passed at the chateau, 
Albert had never found the counsel, the guide, the friend, 
who could direct his imagination, dirninisli the vehemence 
of his feelings, and soften the burning sternness of his 
virtue. She guessed that he must feel isolated, and look 
upon himself as a stranger in the midst of this family so 
determined not to contradict him, but to grieve for him 
in silence either as a heretic or a madman. She felt so her- 
self from the kind of impatience she experienced at that 
wearying and interminable prayer addressed to Heaven, as 
if to transfer to it entirely the care which they themselves 
ought to have employed in searching for the fugitive, in 
finding him, in persuading him, and bringing him home. 
For it must have required a fearful amount of despair and 
grief, to withdraw so aft'ectionate and good a young man 
from the bosom of his relatives, to bury him in a complete 
forgetfulness of self, and to deprive him even of the recol- 
lection of the uneasiness and anxiety he might occasion to 
those who were dearest to him. 

The resolution they had taken of never opposing him, 
and of feigning calmness while overcome with terror, 
seemed to Consuelo’s lofty and well-regulated mind a spe- 
cies of culpable negligence or gross error. There was in 
such a course a sort of pride and selfishness which a narrow 
faith inspires in those persons who consent to wear the 
badge of intolerance, and who believe in only one path by 
which they can attain to heaven, and that path rigidly 
marked out by the finger of the priest. Heavenly Father,” 
said Consuelo, with fervent devotion, can this lofty soul^ 


GONSUELO, 


211 


so warm, so charitable, so free from human passions, be 
less precious in thy sight than the patient and slothful 
spirits which submit to the injustice of the world, and see 
without indignation justice and truth forgotten upon the 
earth? Was that young man possessed % the evil one, 
who in his childhood gave all his toys and ornaments to the 
children of the poor, and who, at the first awakening of 
his reflective powers, wished to deprive himself of all his 
wealth, in order to solace human miseries? And are they, 
these kind and benevolent lords who weep for misfortune 
with barren tears, and comfort it with trifling gifts — are 
they wise in thinking that they are to attain to heaven by 
prayers and acts of submission to the emperor and the pope, 
rather than by righteous works and great sacrifices ? No, 
Albert is not mad; a voice cries to me from the inmost re- 
cesses of my heart, that he is the fairest type of the just 
man and of the saint that has issued from the hands of 
nature. And if painful dreams and strange illusions have 
obscured the clearness of his vision — if, in short, he has 
become deranged as they think, it is their blind contradic- 
tion, it is the absence of sympathy, it is the loneliness of 
his heart, which has brought about this deplorable result. 
I have seen the cell in which Tasso was confined as mad, 
and felt that he was perhaps only exasperated by injustice. 
In the saloons of Venice I have heard those great saints of 
Christendom, whose histories have haunted my dreams in 
childhood, and wrung tears from my aching heart, treated 
as madmen; their miracles called juggleries, and their 
revelations frenzied dreams. But by what right do these 
people, this pious old man, this timid canoness, who be- 
lieve in the miracles of the saints and the genius of the 
poets, pronounce upon their child this sentence of shame 
and reprobation, which should be borne only by the dis- 
eased and the wicked. Mad! no, madness is horrible and 
repulsive! It is a punishment from God for great crimes; 
and can a man become mad by the very consequence of 
his virtue? I thought that it was enough to suffer under the 
weight of undeserved evil, in order to have a claim upon 
the respect as well as on the pity of men. And if I myself 
had gone mad, if I had blasphemed on that terrible day 
when I saw Anzoleto at another's feet, would I, therefore, 
have lost all title to the counsels, to the encouragements, 
to the spiritual cares of my Christian brethren ? Would 


212 


GONSUELO. 


they have driven me forth or left me wandering upon the 
highways, saying: There is no remedy for her; let us 
give her alms, and not speak to her; for since she has suf- 
fered so much she can understand nothing Well! it is 
thus that they treat this unfortunate Ooiiut Albert! They 
feed him, they clothe him, they take care of him, and, in 
a word, bestow upon him the alms of a childish solicitude. 
But they do not speak to him; they are si- 
lent when he questions them ; they droop their 
heads or turn them away when he strives to persuade 
them. They let him fly, when the horror of solitude drives 
him into solitude still more profound, and wait till he 
returns, praying to God to watch over him and bring him 
back safe and well, as if the ocean were between him and 
the objects of his affection. And yet they think he is not 
far off; they make me sing to awaken him, as if he were 
buried in a lethargic sleep in the thickness of some wall, 
or in the hollow and aged trunk of some neighboring tree. 
And yet they have never even thought of exploring all the 
secrets of this old building, they have never dug into the 
bowels of this excavated soil ! Ah ! if I were Albertis 
father or his aunt, I would not have left one stone upon 
another until I had found him; not a tree of the forest 
should have remained standing until they had restored 
him to me.” 

Lost in her reflections, Oonsuelo departed noiselessly 
from Count Christianas oratory, and found, without know- 
ing how, an exit from the castle leading toward the open 
country. She wandered through the forest paths, and 
sought out the rudest and most difficult, guided by a 
romantic hope of discovering Albert. No common attrac- 
tion, no shadow of imprudent fancy carried her onward in 
this venturous design. 

Albert filled her imagination, and occupied her waking 
dreams, it is true; but in her eyes it was not a handsome 
young man, enthusiastically attracted toward her, whom 
she was seeking in those desert places, in the hope of see- 
ing and enjoying an interview with him unobserved by 
spectators; it was a noble and unfortunate being whom 
she imagined she could save, or at least calm by the purity 
of her zeal. She would in the same manner have sought 
out a venerable hermit, who required her care and assist- 
ance, or a lost child, in order to restore him to his mother. 


(JONStTELO. 


213 


She was a child herself, and yet she enjoyed as it were a 
foretaste of maternal love in her simple faith, ardent char- 
ity, and exalted courage. She dreamed of and undertook 
this pilgrimage, as Joan of Arc had dreamed of and under- 
taken the deliverance of her country. It did not even 
occur to her that the resolution she had taken could be a 
subject for ridicule or blame ; slie could not conceive how 
it happened that Amelia, bound to him by the ties of 
blood, and in the commencement by the stronger bonds of 
love, should not have formed the same project and suc- 
ceeded in carrying it out. 

She walked forward rapidly; no obstacle deterred her. 
The silence of that vast forest no longer affected her mind 
^uith sadness or fear. She saw the track of wolves upon 
the sand, and felt no uneasiness lest she should meet the 
famished pack. It seemed to her that she was urged on by 
a divine hand which rendered her invulnerable. She 
knew Tasso by heart from having sung his verses every 
night upon the lagunes, and imagined that she was walk- 
ing under tlie protection of his talisman, as did the gener- 
ous Ubaldo to the discovery of Rinaldo, through the 
snares of the enchanted forest. She threaded her way 
through the rocks and brusliwood with a firm and elastic 
step, her brow glowing with a secret pride, and her cheeks 
tinged with a delicate carnation. Never had she seemed 
lovelier upon the stage in her heroic characters, and yet 
she thought no more of the stage at this moment than she 
had thought of herself when she entered the theater. 

From time to time^ she’ stopped, thoughtful and reflec- 
tive. And if I should meet him suddenly,^^ thought 
she, ^^what could I say to convince and tranquilize him ? 
I know nothing of those mysterious and profound subjects 
which agitate him. I merely guess their nature, through 
the veil of poetry which my excited imagination, unused 
to their contemplation, has raised around them. I ought 
to possess more than mere zeal and charity, I ought to 
have science and eloquence, to find words worthy to be 
listened to by a man so much my superior — by a madman 
so wise when compared with all the reasonable beings 
among whom I have lived. I will go on; God will inspire 
me when the moment comes; for as to myself, I might 
search for ever, and should only lose myself more and 
more in the darkness of my ignorance. Ah! if I had read 


m 


C0N8UEL0, 


numberless books of religion and history, like Count 
Christian and Canoness Wenceslawa! If I knew by heart 
all the prayers of the Church, I should, no doubt, be able 
to apply some one of them appropriately to his unfortunate 
situation; but all my acquirements of this nature are lim- 
ited to a few phrases of the catechism, imperfectly under- 
stood, and consequently imperfectly remembered, and I 
know not how to pray except through the medium of an 
anthem or a hymn. However sensitive he may be to 
music, I fear I shall not be able to persuade this learned 
theologian by a cadence or a sweet strain. No matter ; it 
seems to me there is more power in my persuaded and res- 
olute heart, than in all the doctrines studied by his 
parents, who are indeed both good and kind, but at the 
same time cold and wavering as the fogs and snows of 
their native mountains.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Aftek many turnings and windings through the inex- 
tricable mazes of the forest, which extended over a rough 
and hilly tract of country, Consuelo found herself on an 
elevation covered over with a confused heap of rocks and 
ruins, very difficult to be distinguished from each other, 
so destructive had been the hand of man, jealous of that 
of time. It now presented nothing but the appearance of 
a mountain of ruins, but had been formerly the site of a 
village, burned by order of the redoubtable blind man, the 
celebrated Calixtin chief John Ziska, from whom Albert 
believed himself to have descended, and perhaps was so in 
reality. 

This ferocious and indefatigable captain having com- 
manded his troops, one dark and dismal night, to attack the 
Fortress of the Giants, then guarded for the emperor by the 
Saxons, overheard his soldiers murmur, and one among them 
not far from him, say — This cursed blind man supposes 
that all can do without light as well as he.” Thereupon 
Ziska, turning to one of the four devoted disciples who 
accompanied him everywhere, guiding his horse and 
chariot and giving him a precise account of the position 
and movements of the enemy, said to him, with that ex- 
traordinary accuracy of memory, or principle of second 


CONSUBLO, 


215 


sight, which in him supplied the place of vision : There 
is a village near this, is there not?’^ Yes, father, re- 
plied the Taborite guide, ‘Ho your right, upon a hill in 
front of the fortress/^ Ziska then summoned the discon- 
tented soldier whose murmurs had reached his ear : “ My 
child,” said he to him, “you complain of the darkness ; 
go immediately and set fire to the village upon the hiil to 
my right, and by the light of the flames we can march and 
fight.” This terrible order was executed. The burning 
village lighted the march and attack of the Taborites. 
The Castle of the Giants was carried in two hours, and 
Ziska took possession of it. 

At dawn the next day it was observed and made known 
to him, that in the midst of the ruins of the village, and 
at the very summit of the hill which had served the 
soldiers as a platform for observing the movements of the 
enemy, a young oak, rare in those countries and already 
vigorous, had remained standing and unscathed, appar- 
ently preserved from the heat of the flames around it by 
the water of a cistern which bathed its roots. “ I know 
the cistern well,” replied Ziska. “ Ten of our number 
were cast into it by the accursed inhabitants of that 
village, and since that time the stone which covers it has 
not been removed. Let it remain and serve as their monu- 
ment, since we are not among those who believe that wan- 
dering souls are driven from the gates of heaven by the 
Roman patron (Peter, the key-bearer, whom they have 
made a saint), because their bodies rot in ground uncoii- 
secrated by the hands of the priests of Belial. Let the 
bones of our brothers rest in peace in that cistern. Their 
souls are living. They have already assumed other bodies, 
and those martyrs fight among us although we know 
them not. As to the inhabitants of the village, they have 
received their reward, and as to the oak, it has done well 
in defying the conflagration ; a more glorious destiny than 
that of sheltering miscreants was reserved for it. We 
needed a gallows, and there it stands. Go and bring me 
those twenty Augustine monks whom we took yesterday in 
their convent, and who make a difficulty about following 
us. We will hang them high and dry on the branches of 
that brave oak, whose health such an ornament will quite 
restore.” 

It was done as soon as said. The oak from that time 


216 


CONSUELO. 


was called the Hussite , tlie stone of the cistern, the Stojie 
of Terror, and the ruined village on the deserted hill, 
Bclireclcenstein. 

Oonsuelo had heard this frightful chronicle related in all 
its details by the Baroness Amelia. But as she had as yet 
seen the theater of it only from a distance, or by night 
at the time of her arrival at the chateau, she would not 
have recognised it, if, on casting her eyes below, she had 
not seen at the bottom of the ravine which the road 
crossed, the large fragments of the oak rent by the light- 
ning, which no inhabitant of the country, and no servant of 
the chateau, had dared to cut or carry away ; a super- 
stitious fear being still attached in their minds, although 
after the lapse of several centuries, to this monument of 
horror, this contemporary of John Ziska ; while the 
visions and predictions of Albert had invested this tragical 
spot with a still more repulsive character. 

Thus Consuelo, on finding herself alone and unexpect- 
edly before the Stone of Terror, upon which, overcome 
with fatigue, she had even seated herself, felt her courage 
shaken and her heart strangely oppressed. According, not 
only to Albert, but all the mountaineers of the country, 
terrible apparitions haunted the Schreckenstein, and drove 
from it all hunters rash enough to frequent its neighbor- 
hood in search of game. Consequently this hill, though 
very near the chateau, was often the abode of wolves and 
wild animals, who found there a secure refuge against the 
pursuits of the baron and his hounds. 

The imperturbable Frederick did not on his own account 
much fear being assailed by the devil, with whom moreover 
he would not have feared to measure himself hand to 
hand ; but superstitious in his own way, and in cases 
where his favorite occupations were concerned, he was per- 
suaded that a pernicious influence there threatened his 
dogs, and attacked them with unknown and incurable 
disorders. He had lost several of them, from having 
sutfered them to slake their thirst in the rills of water 
which escaped from the veins of the hill, and which per- 
haps sprang from the condemned cistern, the ancient tomb 
of the Hussites. So he recalled, with all the authority of 
his whistle, his greyhound Panther, or his slow-hound 
Sapphire, whenever they wandered in the neighborhood of 
the Schreckenstein, 


CONSUELO, 


217 


Consiielo, blushing at tliis feeling of cowardice which 
she had resolved to combat, determined to rest a moment 
on the fatal stone, and to retire from it only at the slow 
and steady pace which marks a tranquil mind in the midst 
of^ trial. But just as she turned her eyes from the 
blighted oak which she saw two hundred feet below her, to 
cast them upon surrounding objects, she saw that she was 
not alone upon the Stone of Terror, and that a mysterious 
‘ figure had seated itself at her side, without announcing its 
approach by the slightest noise.' The figure had a large, 
round, and staring face, fixed on a deformed body, thin 
and crooked as a grasshopper’s, and was dressed in an in- 
describable costume belonging to no age or country, the 
ragged condition of which amounted almost to slovenliness. 
Nothing in this being, save the strangeness and suddenness 
of its appearance, was calculated to inspire terror, for its 
looks and gestures were friendly. A kind and gentle 
smile played around the large mouth, and an infantile ex- 
pression softened the wandering of mind which was be- 
trayed by its vague look and hurried gestures. Consuelo, 
on finding herself alone with a madman, in a place where 
no one could come to her assistance, certainly felt alarmed, 
notwithstanding numerous bows and kind smiles which the 
insane being addressed to her. She thought it prudent to 
return his salutations and motions of the head in order to 
avoid irritating him, but she rose as quickly as possible, 
and left the place, pale and trembling. 

The maniac did not follow her, and made no movement 
to recall her ; he merely climbed upon fhe Stone of Terror 
to look after her, and saluted her by waving his cap with 
various fantastic gestures, all the while uttering a Bohe- 
mian word which Consuelo did not understand. When 
she found herself at a considerable distance, she recovered 
sufficient courage to look at and listen to him. She 
already reproached herself for having felt terrified in the 
presence of one of those unfortunates, whom a moment 
before she had pitied in her heart, and vindicated from the 
contempt and desertion of mankind. He is a gentle 
maniac,” said she to herself, ‘^perhaps made crazy by love. 
He has found no refuge from coldness and contempt but 
on this accursed rock, on which no other person would 
dare to dwell, and where demons and specters are kinder 
to him than his fellow-men, since they do not drive him 


218 


CONSUELO. 


away nor trouble him in the indulgence of his moody 
temper. Poor creature ! who laughest and playest like a 
child, with gray beard and a round and shapeless back ! 
God doubtless protects and blesses thee in thy misfortune, 
since He sends thee only pleasing thoughts, and has not 
made thee misanthropical and violent, as thou hadst* a 
right to be The maniac, seeing that she walked more 
slowly, and seeming to understand her kind look, began to 
speak to her in Bohemian with great volubility; and his** 
voice had an exceeding sweetness, a touching charm which 
contrasted forcibly with his ugliness. Consuelo, not under- 
standing him, and supposing that he wanted aims, drew 
from her pocket a piece of money which she placed upon a 
large stone, after raising her arm to show it to him, and to 
point to him the spot where she placed it. But he only 
laughed louder than ever, rubbing his hands and exclaim- 
ing in bad German: ^‘Useless, useless! Zdenko needs 
nothing, Zdenko is happy, very happy ! Zdenko has con- 
solation, consolation, consolation Then, as if he had 
remembered a word which he had sought for a long time 
in vain, he shouted with a burst of joy, and so as to be 
understood, though he pronounced very badly, Consuelo, 
Cojisuelo, Consuelo, de mi alma.” 

Consuelo stopped, astounded, and addressing him in 
Spanish: ^MVhy do you call me thus said she, who 
has taught you that name ? Do you understand the lan- 
guage which I speak to you ?” At all these questions, to 
which Consuelo waited in vain for an answer, the maniac 
did nothing but jump and rub his hands, like a man en- 
chanted with himself ; and as long as she could distinguish 
the sound of his voice, *8110 heard him repeat her name in 
different tones, accompanied with laughter and exclamations 
of joy, like a speaking bird, when he tries to articulate a 
word which he has been taught, and which he interrupts 
with the warbling of his natural song. 

On returning to the chdteau, Consuelo was lost in 
thought Who, then,” said she to herself, ^‘has be- 
trayed the secret of my disguise, so that the first savage I 
meet in these solitudes calls me by my own name ? Can 
this crazy being have seen me anywhere ? Such people 
travel ; perhaps he has been in Venice at the same 
time as myself.” She tried in vain to recall the faces of 
all the beggars and vagabonds she had been accustomed to 


COnsUELO, 


219 


see on the quays and on the Place of St. Mark, but that of 
the maniac of the Stone of Terror did not present itself to 
her memory. But as she once more crossed the draw- 
bridge, a more logical and interesting association of ideas 
occurred to her mind. She resolved to clear up her sus- 
picions, and secretly congratulated herself on not having 
altogether failed in her purpose in the expedition she had 
just concluded. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

When" she again found herself full of animation and 
hope in the midst of the downcast and silent family, she 
reproached herself for the severity with which she had 
secretly blamed the apathy of these deeply afflicted people. 
Count Christian and the canoness eat almost nothing at 
breakfast, and the chaplain did not venture to satisfy his 
appetite, while Amelia appeared to be the victim of a 
violent fit of ill-humor. When they rose from table, the 
old count stopped for an instant at the window, as if to 
look at the gravel -walk leading to the rabbit-warren, by 
which Albert might return, and drooped his head sadly as 
if to say, Yet another day has begun badly, and will end 
in the same manner Consuelo endeavored to cheer 
them by playing on the harpsichord some of the latest 
religious compositions of Porpora, to which they always 
listened with peculiar admiration and interest. 

She was distressed at seeing them so overwhelmed with 
grief, and at not being able to tell them thal she felt some 
hope. But when she saw the count take his book, and the 
canoness her needle, and when she was summoned to the 
embroidery-frame of the latter to decide whether a certain 
figure should have blue stitches or white in the center, she 
could not prevent her thoughts from wandering to Albert, 
who was perhaps dying from fatigue and exhaustion in some 
corner of the forest, without knowing how to find his way 
back, or lying on some cold stone, overcome by the fearful 
attacks of catalepsy, and exposed to the assaults of wolves 
and snakes ; while under the skillful and persevering 
fingers of the tender Wenceslawa, the most brilliant flowers 
seemed to grow in thousands on the canvas, watered some- 
times by a secret but fruitless tear. As soon as she could 


220 


C0N8UBL0. 


exchange a few words with the pouting Amelia, she in- 
quired from her who was that deformed and crazy being 
who traversed the country, dressed in singular costume, 
laughing like a child at everyone whom he met. ‘^Ah! 
it is Zdenko,^^ replied Amelia. Did you never meet him 
before in your walks? One is sure of meeting him every- 
where, for he has no fixed dwelling.” 

‘‘I saw him this morning for the first time,” said Con- 
suelo, and thought that he must be the tutelary genius 
of the Schreckenstein.” 

‘‘ It is there, then, that you have been walking since 
dawn? I begin to think you are slightly crazed your- 
self, my dear Nina, to wander thus at break of day through 
desert places, where you may encounter worse beings than 
the inoffensive Zdenko.” 

‘‘Some hungry wolf, for instance?” replied Consuelo, 
laughing; “it seems to me that the carbine of the baron, 
your father, should shield all the country with its pro- 
tection.” 

“ I speak not merely of wild beasts,” said Amelia; “ the 
country is not so free as you imagine from the worst 
animals in creation, viz. brigands and vagabonds. The 
wars which have just ended have ruined so many families 
that whole tribes of beggars prowl about, sometimes going 
so far as to solicit alms, pistol in hand. There are also 
swarms of those Egyptian Zingari, whom the French have 
done us the honor to call Bohemians, as if they were 
aborigines of our mountains, instead of merely infesting 
them at the commencement of their appearance in Europe. 
These people, driven away and repulsed everywhere, 
although cowardly and obsequious before an armed man, 
might well be bold with a young girl like you; and I fear 
that your fancy for adventurous walks will expose you more 
than becomes so proper a person as my dear Porpofina 
affects to be.” 

“ Dear baroness,” replied Consuelo, “ though you seem 
to consider the tusks of a wolf as a slight danger compared 
with those which threaten me, I confess to you that I fear 
them much more than I do the Zingari. The latter are 
old acquaintance of mine, and in general I feel it almost 
impossible to be afraid of poor, weak, and persecuted 
beings. It seems to me that I shall always know how to 
address those people in a way which will secure me their 


CONSUELO. 


221 


confidence and their sympathy ; for, ugly, badly dressed, 
and despised as they are, it is impossible for me" not to be 
particularly interested in them/^ 

Bravo, my dearl'" cried Amelia, with increasing bit- 
terness. I see you completely share Albert’s fine senti- 
ments with regard to beggars, robbers, and foreigners ; 
and I shall not be astonished to see you one of these morn- 
ings walking, as he does, and leaning on the rather dirty 
and very infirm arm of the agreeable Zdenko!” 

These words were as a ray of light to Consuelo, which 
she had sought from the commencement of the conversa- 
tion, and which consoled her for the raillery of her com- 
panion. Count Albert then lives on good terms with 
Zdenko?” she asked, with an air of satisfaction which she 
did not even think of concealing. 

‘^He is his most intimate, his most valued friend,” re- 
plied Amelia, with a disdainful smile. He is the com- 
panion of his walks, the confidant of his secrets, tflie mes- 
senger, it is said, of his correspondence with the devil. 
Zdenko and Albert are the only persons who would venture 
to repair at all hours to the Stone of Terror, and there 
converse on the most knotty points of divinity. Albert 
and Zdenko are the only persons who are not ashamed to 
seat themselves upon the grass with the Zingari who halt 
beneath our fir-trees, and partake with them the disgust- 
ing meal which those people prepare in their wooden por- 
ringers. They call that holding communion, and a very 
low sort of communion it certainly is. Ah! what a hus- 
band, what a fascinating lover would my cousin Albert 
be,‘when he seized the hand of his betrothed with a hand 
that had just pressed that of a pestiferous Zingaro, and 
carried it to those lips which had just drunk the wine of 
the chalice from the same cup with Zdenko!” 

All this may be very witty,” said Consuelo, ^^but for 
my part 1 understand nothing of it.” 

^•That is because you have no taste for history,” re- 
turned Amelia, “and because you did not listen atten- 
tively to all that I related about the Hussites and the Prot- 
estants, during the last few days that I have been making 
myself hoarse explaining scientifically to you the enigmas 
and absurd practices of my cousin. Did I not tell you 
that the great quarrel between the Hussite and the Eoinan 
Church arose respecting the communion in both elements? 


222 


CONSUELO. 


The council of Bale decided that there was profanation in 
giving the blood of Christ to the laity in the element of 
wine, alleging — mark the beautiful reasoning! that his 
body and his blood were contained equally in both ele- 
ments, and that whoever eat the one drank the other. Do 
you comprehend?’^ 

It seems to me that the fathers of the council them- 
selves did not comprehend very well. They ought to have 
said, if they wished to be logical, that the communion of 
wine was useless; but profanation? how could that be, if 
in eating the bread you drank the blood also?” 

“It was because the Hussites had a terrible thirst for blood, 
and the fathers of the council knew it well. The fathers 
also thirsted for the blood of the people, but they wished 
to drink it under the element of gold. The poor people 
revolted, and seized, as the price of their sweat and their 
blood, the treasures of the abbeys and the copes of the 
bishops. This was the origin of the quarrel, in which 
mingled afterward, as I have told you, the sentiment of 
national independence and the hatred of foreigners. The 
dispute respecting the communion was the symbol of it. 
Rome and her priests officiated in chalices of gold and 
Jewels ; the Hussites affected to officiate in vases of wood, 
in order to censure the luxury of the church and to imitate 
the poverty of the apostles. This is why Albert, who has 
taken it into his head to become a Hussite, after these oc- 
currence of the past have lost all value and signification, 
and who pretends to understand the true doctrine of John 
Huss better than John Huss himself, invents ail sorts of 
communions, and goes communing on the highways with 
beggars and simpletons. It was the mania of the Hussites 
to commune everywhere, at all hours, and with all the 
world.” 

“All this is very strange,” replied Consuelo, ^^and can 
only be _ explained to my mind by an exalted patriotism, 
carried in Count Albert, I must confess, even to the extent 
of fanaticism. The thought is perhaps profound, but the 
forms he clothes it in, seem to be very puerile for so seri- 
ous and so learned a man. Is not the true communion 
more properly alms-giving? What meaning can there be 
in those vain ceremonies which have gone out of use, and 
which those whom he associates with them, certainly do 
not comprehend ?” 


C0N8UEL0. 


223 


As to altns-giving, Albert is not wanting in that; and 
if they would give him free scope, he would soon rid him- 
self of those riches which for my part I should be very 
glad to see melt away in the hands of his beggars.” 

And why so?” 

“ Because my father would no longer entertain the fatal 
idea of enriching me by making me the wife of this maniac. 
For it is well you should know, my dear Porporina,” added 
Amelia, maliciously, that my family has not yet re- 
nounced that agreeable design. During these last few 
days, when my cousin^s reason shone like a fleeting ray of 
sunshine from between the clouds, my father returned to 
the attack with more firmness than I thought him caj^able 
of exhibiting toward me. We had a very animated quar- 
rel, the result of which seems to be that they will endeavor 
to overcome my resistance by the weariness of retirement, 
like a citadel which an enemy endeavors to reduce by fam- 
ine. Therefore if I fail, if I yield to their attacks, I shall 
be obliged to marry Albert in spite of himself, in spite of 
myself, and in spite of a third person who pretends not to 
care the least in the world about it.” 

^‘Oh! indeed?” replied Consuelo, laughing; I expected 
that epigram, and you only granted me the honor of con- 
versing with you this morning in order to arrive at it. I 
receive it with pleasure, because 1 see in this little pre- 
tense of jealousy, the remains of a warmer affection for 
Count Albert than you are willing to acknowledge.” 

Nina!” cried the young baroness, energetically, ^^if you 
imagine you see that, you have but little penetration, and if 
you see it with pleasure, you have but little affection for me. 
I am violent, perhaps proud, but certainly not in the habit 
of dissembling. 1 have already told you the prefer- 
ence which Albert gives to you irritates me against him, 
not against you. It wounds my self-love, but it flatters 
my hope and my inclination. It makes me long that he 
would, for your sake, commit some great folly which 
would free me from all circumspection with regard to him, 
by justifying the aversion against which I have long strug- 
gled, and which I now feel for him without any mixture of 
pity or love.” 

‘'May God grant,” replied Consuelo, gently, “ that this 
is the language of passion and not of truth! For it would 
be a very harsh truth in the mouth of a very cruel person,” 


224 


CONSVELO, 


The bitterness which Amelia testified in tliese conversa- 
tions made little impression upon Consuelo, generous 
mind. A few seconds afterward, she thought only of her 
enterprise, and the dream which she cherished of restoring 
Albert to bis family diffused a kind of pure-hearted joy 
over the monotony of her occupations. Slie required tliis 
excitement to dissipate the ennui which threatened her, 
and which being the malady most opposed and hitherto 
most unknown to her active and energetic nature, would 
certainly have been fatal to it. In fact, when she had 
given her unruly and inattentive pupil a long and tiresome 
lesson, she had nothing more to do but to exercise her 
voice and to study her ancient authors. But this consola- 
tion, which hitherto had never failed her, was now obsti- 
nately disputed. Amelia, with her restless frivolity, came 
every moment to interrupt and trouble her by childish 
questions and unseasonable observations. The rest of the 
family were in deep dejection. Already five long weary 
days had passed without the reappearance of the young 
count, and every day of his absence added to the gloom 
and depression of the preceding one. 

In the afternoon, Consuelo, while wandering through 
the garden with Amelia, saw Zdenko on the other side of 
the moat which separated them from the open country. 
He seemed busy talking to himself, and from the' tone of 
his voice one would have said he was relating a history. 
Consuelo stopped her companion, and asked her to trans- 
late what the strange personage was saying. 

How can you expect me to translate reveries without 
connection and without meaning?’^ said Amelia, shrugging 
up her shoulders. This is what he has just mumbled, 
if you are very desirous of knowing: ^ Once there was a 
great mountain, all white, all white, and by its side a great 
mountain, all black, all black, and by its side a great 
mountain, all red, all red.’ Does that interest you very 
much?” 

“Perhaps it might, if I could know what follows. Oh! 
what would I not give to understand Bohemian! I must 
learn it.” 

“ It is not nearly so easy as Italian or Spanish, but you 
are so studious that you will quickly master it if you wish; 
I will teach you, if that will at all gratify you.” 

“ You are an angel. . On the condition, however, that 


CONSUELO. 225 

you are more patient as a mistress than as a pupil. And 
now what doesZdenko say?’^ 

Now the mountains are speaking: 

‘ Why, 0 red, all red mountain, hast thou crushed the 
mountain all black? And why, 0 white, all white moun- 
tain, hast thou permitted the black, the all black moun- 
tain to be crushed?’ ' 

Here Zdenko began to sing with a tlun and broken 
voice, but with a correctness and sweetness which pene- 
trated Consuelo’s very soul. His song was as follows : 

‘‘0 black mountains and white mountains, you will 
need much water from the red mountain to wash your 
robes. 

Your robes, black with crimes and white with idle- 
ness ; your robes stained with lies and glittering with pride. 

ISTow they are both washed, thoroughly washed, your 
robes that would not change color ; they are worn, well 
worn, your robes that would not drag along the road. 

Now all the mountains are red, very red ! It will 
need all the water of heaven, all the water of heaven, to 
wash them.” 

^^Is that improvised, or is it an old Bohemian air?” 
asked Consuelo of her companion. 

^^Who knows?” replied Amelia; Zdenko is either an 
inexhaustible improvisatore or a very learned rhapsodist. 
Our peasants are passionately fond of hearing him, and 
respect him as a saint, considering his madness rather as a 
gift from Heaven than as a malady of the mind. They 
feed and cherish him, and it depends upon himself alone 
to be the best lodged and the best dressed man in the 
•country, for every one desires the pleasure and the advan- 
tage of having him for a guest. He passes for a bearer of 
good luck, a harbinger of fortune. When the weather is 
threatening, if Zdenko happen to pass they say, ‘Oh! it 
will be nothing; the hail will not fall here.’ If the har- 
vest is bad, they ask Zdenko to sing ; and as he always 
I)romises years of abundance and fertility, they are con- 
soled for the present by the expectation of a more favor- 
able future. But Zdenko is unwilling to dwell anywhere ; 
his wandering nature carries him to the deepest recesses of 
the forests. No one knows where he is sheltered at night, 
nor where he finds a refuge against the cold and the 
storms. Never, for the last ten years, has he been seen to 


226 


GONSUELO. 


enter under any other roof than that of the Castle of the 
Giants, because he pretends that his ancestors are in all 
the other houses of the country, and that he is forbidden 
to present himself before them. Nevertheless, he follows 
Albert to his apartment, for he is as devoted and submis- 
sive to Albert as his dog Cynabre. Albert is the only liv- 
ing being who can at will enchain his savage indepen- 
dence, and by a word put a stop to his unquenchable 
gaiety, his eternal songs, and his indefatigable babble. 
Zdenko formerly had, it is said, a very fine voice, but he 
has worn it out by talking, singing, and laughing. He is 
not older than Albert, though he looks like a man of fifty, 
and they were companions in childhood. At that time 
Zdenko was only half crazed. Descended from an ancient 
family (one of his ancestors makes a considerable figure in 
the war of the Hussites), he evinced sufficient memory and 
quickness to induce his parents, taking into view his want 
of physical strength, to destine him for the cloister. For 
a long time he wore the dress of a novice in one of the 
mendicant orders, but they could never succeed in making 
him submit to their rules, and when he was sent on a cir- 
cuit with one of the brothers of his convent, and an ass to 
be loaded with the gifts of the faithful, he would leave the 
wallet, the ass, and the brother in the lurch, and wander 
off to take a long vacation in the depths of the forest. 
When Albert departed on his travels, Zdenko fell into a 
low and melancholy state, threw off his frock, and became 
a complete vagabond. His melancholy disappeared by 
degrees, but the glimmering ray of reason, which had 
always shone amid the oddities of his character, was 
entirely extinguished. He no longer talked except in- 
coherently, displayed all sorts of incomprehensible manias, 
and became really crazy. But as he always continued 
sober, mild, and inoffensive, he may be termed rather 
idiotic than mad. Our peasants call him nothing else but 
the innocent, 

What you tell me of this poor man inspires me with a 
warm sympathy for him,” said Cohsuelo ; wish I could 
talk to him. He knows a little German, does he not?” 

He understands it, and can speak it tolerably well. 
But, like all Bohemian peasants, he has a horror of the 
language; and beside, when he is absorbed in his reveries, 
as he is now, it is very doubtful if he will answer when you 
question him.” 


C0N8UEL0. 


m 

Then make an effort to speak to him in his own lan- 
guage, and to attract his attention to us,” said Consuelo. 

Amelia called Zdenko several times, asking him in 
Bohemian if he were well, and if he were in need of any 
thing ; but she could not once induce him to raise his 
head, which was bent toward the earth, nor to inter- 
rupt a little play he was carrying on with three pebbles, 
one white, one red, and one black, which he threw at 
each other, laughing with great glee every time he knocked 
them down. 

You see it is quite useless,” said Amelia. When he 
is not hungry, or is not looking for Albert, he never 
speaks to us. In one or the other of those cases, he comes 
to the gate of the castle, and if he is only hungry he re- 
mains at the gate. They then give him what he wants ; 
he thanks them and goes away. If he wishes to see Albert,* 
he enters, goes and knocks at the door of his chamber, 
which is never closed to him, and there he will remain for 
whole hours, silent and quiet as a timid child if Albert is 
at work, talkative and cheerful if Albert is disposed to 
listen to him, but never irksome, it would seem, to my 
amiable cousin, and more fortunate in that respect than 
any member of the family.” 

And when Count Albert is invisible, as he is at this 
moment for instance, does Zdenko, who loves him so 
ardently — Zdenko, who lost all his gaiety when the count 
set out on his travels — Zdenko, his inseparable companion, 
remain tranquil? Does he show no uneasiness?” 

None whatever. He says that Albert has gone to see 
the great God, and that he will soon return. That was 
what he said when Albert was traveling over Europe, and 
when he had become reconciled to his absence.” 

^‘And do you not suspect, dear Amelia, that Zdenko 
may have a better foundation than all of you for this ap- 
parent security ? Has it never occurred to you that he 
might be in Albertis confidence, and that he watches over 
him in his delirium or lethargy?” 

We did indeed think so, and for a long time watched 
all his proceedings; but like his patron, Albert, he detests 
all watching, and, more crafty than a fox when hunted by 
the dogs, he circumvented all our efforts, baffled all our 
attempts, and rendered useless all our observations. It 
would seen that he has, like Albert, the gift of making 


m 


GONSUELO. 


Iiimself invisible \vben he pleases. Sometimes be has dis- 
appeared instantaneously from the eyes which were fixed 
upon him, as if he had cloven the earth that it might 
swallow him up, or as if a cloud had wrapped him in its 
impenetrable veil. At least this is what is affirmed by our 
people, and by my aunt Wenceslawa herself, who, not- 
withstanding ail her piety, has not a very strong head as 
regards Satanic influences.^’ 

“But you, my dear baroness, cannot believe in these 
absurdities?” 

“For my part, I agree with my uncle Christian. He 
thinks that if Albert, in his mysterious sufferings, relies 
solely on the succor and help of this idiot, it would be very 
dangerous to interfere with him in any way, and that by 
watching and thwarting Zdenko’s movements, there is a 
risk of depriving Albert for hours, and perhaps for whole 
days, of the care and even of the nourishment which he 
may receive from him. But for mercy’s sake let us go on, 
dear Nina; we have bestowed sufficient time on this mat- 
ter, and yonder idiot does not excite in me the same inter- 
est that he does in you. I am tired of his romances and 
his songs, and his cracked voice almost gives me a sore 
throat from sympathy.” 

“ I am astonished,” said Consuelo, as she suffered her- 
self to be drawn away by her companion, “that his voice 
has not an extraordinary charm in your ears. Broken as 
it is, it makes more impression on me than that of the 
greatest singers.” 

Because you are sated with flne voices, and novelty 
amuses you.” 

“ The language which he sings has to my ears a peculiar 
sweetness,” returned Consuelo, “and his melodies have not 
the monotony you seem to imagine; on the contrary, they 
contain very refined and original ideas.” 

“Not for me, who have been beset by them,” replied 
Amelia. “ At first I took some interest in the words, 
thinking, as do the country people, that they were ancient 
national songs, and curious in a historical point of view; 
but as he never repeats them twice hi the same manner, I 
feel certain they are improvisations, and I was soon con- 
vinced that they were not worth listening to, although our 
peasants imagine they find in them a symbolical sense 
which pleases them.” 


CONSUELO, 


229 


As soon as Consuelo could get rid of Amelia, she ran 
back to the garden, and found Zdenko in the same place, 
on the outside of the moat and absorbed in the same play. 
Convinced that this unfortunate being had secret relations 
with Albert, she had stealthily entered the kitchen and 
seized a cake make of honey and fine flour, carefully 
kneaded by the canoness with her own hands. She remem- 
bered having seen Albert, who eat very sparingly, show an 
instinctive preference for this dainty, which his aunt al- 
ways prepared for him with the greatest care. She 
wrapped it up in a white handkerchief, and meaning to 
throw it across the moat to Zdenko, she called to him. But 
as he appeared not to wish to listen to her, she remembered 
the vivacity with which he had uttered her name, and she 
therefore pronounced it in German. Zdenko seemed to 
hear it; but he was at that moment in one of his melan- 
choly moods, and without looking up, he repeated in Ger- 
man, shaking his head and sighing, “ Consolation! Conso- 
lation!” as if he would have said, I have no further hope 
of consolation.” 

Consuelo !” then said the young girl, wishing to see 
if her Spanish name would reawaken the joy lie had shown 
on pronouncing it in the mornijig. 

Immediately Zdenko abandoned his pebbles, and began 
to leap and gambol upon the bank of the moat, throwing 
up his cap into the air, and stretching out his arms to her, 
uttering some .very animated Bohemian words with a face 
radiant with pleasure and affection. 

Albert,” cried Consuelo to him again, as she threw the 
cake across the moat. 

Zdenko seized it, laughing, and did not unfold the hand- 
kerchief; but he said many things which Consuelo was in 
despair at not being able to understand. She tried to re- 
member one phrase in particular, which he repeated sev- 
eral times, accompanying it by numerous bows and greet- 
ings. Her musical ear helped her to seize the exact pro- 
nunciation, and as soon as she lost sight of Zdenko, who 
ran off at full speed, she wrote it upon her tablets, with 
the Venetian orthography, intending to ask Amelia for its 
meaning. But before leaving Zdenko she wished to give 
him something that would testify in the most delicate 
manner to Albert the interest she felt for him, and having 
recalled the crazy beings who came back obedient to her 


230 


CONSUELO. 


voice, she threw him a bouquet of flowers which she had 
gathered an hour before in the green-house, and which, 
still fresh and fragrant, were fastened to her girdle. 
Zdenko seized it, repeated his salutations, renewed his ex- 
clamations and gambols, and then burying himself in the 
dense thicket, where it would have seemed that only a hare 
could force a passage, disappeared entirely. Consuelo fol- 
lowed his rapid flight for a few moments with her eyes, by 
marking the tops of the branches as they moved in a south- 
easterly direction; but a light wind which sprang up ren- 
dered her observation useless, by agitating all the branches 
of the coppice, and she re-entered the chateau, more than 
ever bent upon the prosecution of her design. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

WHEiq’ Amelia was asked to translate the phrase which 
Consuelo had written upon her tablets and engraved in 
her memory, she replied that she did not understand it at 
all, although she could render it literally by these words: 

May he lulio has been loronged salute thee.” 

Per haps, added she, ^‘•he refers to Albert or himself, 
and means that wrong has been done them in accusing 
them of madness, as they consider themselves the only 
sensible men on the face of the earth. But what good can 
it do to seek for the meaning of a madman’s talk? This 
Zdenko occupies your imagination much more than he 
deserves.” 

It is the custom of the peasantry in all countries,” 
replied Consuelo, “ to attribute to the insane a kind of 
inspiration, higher than that enjoyed by cold and settled 
minds. I have a right to retain the prejudices of my 
class, and I confess I can never believe that a madman 
speaks at random when he utters words which are un- 
intelligible to us.” 

'^Let us see,” said Amelia, ^‘if the chaplain, who is 
deeply versed in all the ancient and modern sayings which 
our peasants use, knows the meaning of this.” And 
running to the good man, she asked him for an explanation 
of Zdenko’s words. 

But these obscure words seemed to strike the chaplain with 


ComUELO.* 


m 


a frightful light. In the name of the living God/’ cried 
he, turning pale, where can your ladyship have heard 
such blasphemy 

it be such, I cannot understand its meaning,^^ 
replied Amelia, laughing; ‘^and therefore I await your 
explanation.^^ 

Word for word, it is in good German exactly what 
you have just said, madam: * May he who has been 
toronged salute thee.’ But if you wish to know the 
meaning (and I hardly dare to utter it), it is, in the 
thought of the idolater who pronounced it : ^ May the 
devil be loith thee.’ ” 

** In other words,” returned Amelia, laughing still 
more heartily, ‘ Go to the devil.’ Well, it is a pi'etty 
compliment; and this is what you gain, my dear Nina, 
from talking with a fool. You did not think that Zdenko, 
with so affable a smile and such merry grimaces, would 
utter so ungallant a wish.” 

‘‘Zdenko!” cried the chaplain. “Ah! then it is that 
unfortunate idiot who makes use of such sayings? I am 
glad it is no worse — I trembled lest it should be some other 
person. But I was wrong — it could proceed only from a 
brain crammed with the abominations of the ancient 
heresies. Whence can he have learned things almost 
unknown and forgotten nowadays ? The spirit of evil 
alone can have suggested them to him.” 

“But, after all, it is only a very vulgar oath which the 
common people use in all countries,” returned Amelia; 
“and Catholics are no more shocked by it than. others.” 

“ Do not think so, baroness,” said the chaplain. “ It 
is not a malediction in the wandering mind of him who 
uses it; on the contrary, it is a homage, a benediction — 
and there is the sin. This abomination comes from the 
Lollards, a detestable sect, which engendered that of the 
Vaudois, which engendered that of the Hussites ” 

“Which engendered many others,” said Amelia, assum- 
ing a grave air to mock the good priest. “But come, 
Mr. Chaplain, explain to us how it can be a compliment to 
recommend one^s neighbor to the devil.” 

“ The reason is, that in the opinion of the Lollards, 
Satan was not the enemy of the human race, but on the 
contrary its protector and patron. They held that he was 
a victim to injustice and jealousy. According to them the 


. coi^strisLo. 


^ 3 ^ 

Archangel Michael, and the other celestial powers who had 
precipitated him into the abyss, were the real demons, 
while Lucifer, Beelzebub, Ashtaroth, Astarte, and all the 
monsters of hell, were innocence and light themselves. 
They believed that the reign of Michael and his glorious 
host would soon come to an end, and that the devil 
would be restored and reinstated in heaven, with his 
accursed myrmidons. In fine, they paid him an impious 
worship, and accosted each other by saying, ^ May he lolio 
has Men wronged ^ — that is to say, he who has been mis- 
understood and unjustly condemned — ^salute thee ’ — that 
is, protect and assist thee.^^ 

Well,” said Amelia, bursting into a fit of laughter, 

my dear Nina is certainly under very favorable guardian- 
ship, and I should not be astonished if we should soon 
have to apply exorcisms to destroy the effeot of Zdenko’s 
incantations upon her.” 

Oonsuelo was somewhat disturbed at this raillery. She 
was not quite certain that the devil was a chimera and 
hell a poetic fable. She would have been induced to share 
the chaplain^s indignation and affright, if, provoked at 
Amelia^s laughter, he had not been at the moment per- 
fectly ridiculous. Confused and disturbed in all her 
earliest belief by the contest between the superstition of 
the one party and the incredulity of the other, Oonsuelo 
that evening could hardly say her prayers. She inquired 
into the meaning of all those forms of devotion which she 
had hitherto received without examination, and which no 
longer satisfied her alarmed mind. From what I have 
been able to see,” thought she, there are two kinds of 
devotion at Venice — that of the monks, the nuns, and the 
people, which goes perhaps too far; for it accepts, along 
with the mysteries of religion, all sorts of additional 
superstitions, such as the orco (the demon of the lagunes), 
the sorceries of Melamocco, the gold -seekers, the horo- 
scope and vows to saints for the success of designs, far from 
pious, and often far from honest. Then there is that of 
the higher clergy and of the fashionable world, which is 
only a pretense ; for these people go to church as they go 
to the theater — to hear the music and show themselves ; 
They laugh at every thing and examine nothing, in religion, 
thinking that there is nothing serious or binding on the 
conscience in it, and that it is all a matter of form and 


CONSUELO. 


233 


habit. Anzoleto was not in the least religious ; that was 
one source of grief to me, and I was right to look upon 
his unbelief with terror. My master Porpora, again— what 
did he believe ? I knoAV not. lie never explained himself 
on that point, and yet he spoke to me of God and of 
Divine things at the most sorrowful and the most solemn 
moments of my life. But though his words struck me 
forcibly, the only impression they left was one of terror 
and uncertainty. lie seemed to believe in a jealous and 
absolute God, who sends inspiration and genius only to 
those who are separated by their pride from the sufferings 
and the joys of their race. My heart regrets this fierce 
religion, and could not adore a God who should forbid me 
to love. Which then is the true God ? Who will show 
him to me ? My poor mother was a believer, but with 
how many childish idolatries was her worship mingled! 
What am I to believe ? — what am I to think ? Shall I say, 
like the thoughtless Amelia, that reason is the only God ? 
But she does not know even that God, and cannot show 
him to me, for there is no one less reasonable than she. 
Can one live without religion ? Of what use then would 
life be ? For what object could I labor ? To what pur- 
pose should I cherish pity, courage, generosity, a sense of 
right — I, who am alone in the universe — if there be not in 
that universe a Supreme Being, omniscient and full of love, 
who judges, who approves, who aids, preserves and blesses 
me ? What strength, what excitement, can those have in 
life, who can dispense with a hope and a love beyond the 
reach of human illusions and worldly vicissitudes ? 

Supreme Being 1^^ cried she in her heart, forgetting 
the accustomed form of her prayer, teach me what I 
ought to do. Infinite Love I teach me what I ought to 
love. Infinite Wisdom! teach me what I ought to believe.^^ 
While thus praying and meditating, she forgot the flight 
of time, and it was past midnight, when before retiring to 
bed she cast a glance over the landscape now lighted by 
the moon^s pale beams. The view from her window was 
not very extensive, owing to the surrounding mountains, 
but exceedingly picturesque. A narrow and winding val- 
ley, in the center of which sparkled a mountain stream, 
lay before her, its meadows gently undulating until they 
reached the base of the surrounding hills, which shut in 
the horizon, except where at intervals they opene^^ to 


234 . 


CONSUELO. 


permit the eye to discover still more distant and steeper 
ranges, clothed to the very summit with dark green firs. 
The last rays of the setting moon shone full on the princi- 
pal features of tins somber but striking landscape, to 
which the dark foliage of the evergreens, the pent-up 
water, and the rocks covered with moss and ivy, imparted 
a stern and savage aspect. 

While comparing this country with all those she had tra- 
versed in her childhood, Consuelo was struck with an idea 
that had not before occurred to her; viz., that the land- 
scape before her was not altogether new to her, whether 
she had formerly passed through this part of Bohemia, 
or seen elsewhere places very similai*. We traveled so 
much, my mother and I,” said she to herself, that it 
would not be astonishing if I had already been here. I 
have a distinct recollection of Dresden and Vienna, and 
we may have crossed Bohemia in going from one of those 
cities to the other. Still it would be strange if we had re- 
ceived hospitality in one of the out-houses of this very 
castle in which I am now lodged as a young lady of conse- 
quence; or if we had by our ballads earned a morsel of 
bread at the door of some one of those cabins, where 
Zdenko now stretches out his hand for alms and sings his 
ancient songs — Zdenko, the wandering artist, who is my 
equal and fellow, although he no longer seems so.” 

Just at this moment her eyes were directed toward the 
Schreckenstein, the summit of which could be perceived 
above a nearer eminence, and it seemed to her that this fear- 
ful spot was crowned by a reddish, light which faintly 
tinged the transparent azure of the sky. She fixed her at- 
tention upon it, and saw the flickering light increase, be- 
come extinct, and reappear, until at last it shone so clear 
and decided that she could not attribute it to an illusion 
of her senses. Whether it was the temporary retreat of a 
band of Zingari, or the haunt of some brigand, it was not 
the less certain that the Schreckenstein was occupied at that 
moment by living beings ; and Consuelo, after her simple 
and fervent prayer to the Cod of truth, was no longer dis- 
posed to believe in the existence of the fantastic and evil- 
minded spirits with which the popular tradition peopled 
the mountain. But was it not more probably Zdenko who 
had kindled the fire, to shield himself from the cold of the 
night? .And if it were Zdenko, was it not to warm Albert 


CONSVELO. 


235 


that the dry branches of the forest were burning at that 
moment? This luminous appearance was often seen upon 
the Schreckenstein; it was spoken of with terror, and at- 
tributed to something supernatural. It had been said a 
thousand times that it emanated from the enchanted trunk 
of Ziska^s old oak. But the Hussite no longer existed; at 
least it lay at the bottom of the ravine, and the red light 
still shone on the summit of the mountain. Why did not 
this mysterious light-house induce them to- institute a 
seach there for the supposed retreat of Albert? 

‘^Oh, apathy of devout mindsT"’ thought Consuelo; ^^are 
you a boon of Providence, or an infirmity of weak and im- 
perfect natures She asked herself at the same time if 
she should have the courage to go alone at that hour to the 
Schreckenstein; and she decided that, actuated by benevo- 
lence and charity, she could dare all. But she could adopt 
this flattering conclusion with perfect safety, as the strict 
closing of the chateau left her no opportunity of executing 
her design. 

In the morning she awoke full of zeal, and hurried to 
the Schreckenstein. All was silent and deserted. The 
grass was untrodden around the Stone of Terror; there 
was no trace of fire, no vestige of the presence of last nighPs 
guests. She wandered over the mountain in every direc- 
tion, but found nothing which could indicate their pres- 
ence. She called Zdenko on every side ; she tried to 
whistle, in order to see if she could awaken the barkings of 
Cynabre, and shouted her own name several times. She 
uttered the word consolation in all the languages she 
knew; she sang some strains of her Spanish hymn, and 
even of Zdenko^s Bohemian air, which she remembered 
perfectly. But in vain. The crackling of the dried 
lichens under her feet, and the murmuring of the mysteri- 
ous waters which ran beneath the rocks, were the only 
sounds that answered her. 

Fatigued by this useless search, she was about to retire 
after having taken a momenPs rest upon the stone, when 
she saw at her feet a broken and withered rose-leaf. She 
took it up, examined it, and after a mementos reflection 
felt convinced that it must be a leaf of the bouquet she had 
thrown to Zdenko, for the mountain did not produce wild 
roses, even if i-t had been the season for them, and as yet 
there w^ere none in flower except in the green-house of the 


236 


C0N8UEL0. 


chateau. This faint indication consoled her for the appar- 
ent fruitlessness of her walk, and left her more than ever 
convinced that it was at the Schreckenstein they must 
hope to find Albert. 

But in what cave of this impenetrable mountain was he 
concealed? He was not then always there, or perhaps he 
was at that moment buried in a fit of cataleptic insensibil- 
ity ; or rather, perhaps, Consuelo had deceived herself 
when she attributed to her voice some power over him, 
and the veneration he had professed for her was but a 
paroxysm of his madness wiiich had left no trace in his 
memory. Perhaps at this very moment he saw and heard 
her, laughed at her efforts, and despised, her useless 
attempts. 

At this last thought Consuelo felt a burning blush 
mount to her cheeks, and she hastily left the Schrecken- 
stein, almost resolving never to return there. However, 
she left a little basket of fruit which she had brought with 
her. 

But on the morrow she found the basket in the same 
place, untouched. Even the leaves which covered the fruit 
had not been disturbed by any curious hand. Her offering 
had been disdained, or else neither Albert nor Zdenko had 
been there; and yet the ruddy light of a fire of fir branches 
had again shone the previous night upon the summit of 
the mountain. Consuelo had watched until daylight in 
order to observe it closely. She had several times seen the 
brightness diminish, and then increase, as if a vigilant 
hand had supplied nourishment to the flame. No one had 
seen any Zingari in the neighborhood. No stranger had 
been remarked in the paths of the forest ; and all the 
peasants whom Consuelo questioned respecting the lumin- 
ous appearance of the Stone of Terror, answered her in bad 
German, that it was not good to search into those things, 
and that people ought not to interfere in the affairs of the 
other world. 

Nine days had now elapsed since Albert had disappeared. 
This was the longest absence of the kind that had ever 
taken place, and this protracted delay, united to the 
gloomy omen which had ushered in his thirtieth birthday, 
was not calculated to revive the hopes of the family. At 
hist they began to be seriously alarmed ; Count Christian 
did npthing bwt utter heart-breaking sighs; the baron went 


C0N8UEL0. 


237 


to hunt without a thought of killing any thing; the chap- 
lain offered up an extra number of prayers ; Amelia no 
longer dared to laugh or converse as usual; and the canon- 
ess, pale and weak, unable to pursue her household cares, 
and forgetful of her tapestry work, told her beads from 
morning till night, kept little tapers burning before the 
image of the Virgin, and seemed stooped lower by a foot 
than usual. Consuelo ventured to propose a thorough and 
careful examination of the Schreckenstein, related what 
researches she had made there, and mentioned to the 
canoness privately the circumstance of the rose-leaf, and 
the careful watch which she had kept all night on the 
luminous summit of the mountain. But the preparations 
which Wenceslawa preposed to make for the search, soon 
caused Consuelo to repent of having spoken so frankly. 
The canoness wished to have Zdenko seized and terrified by 
threats, to equip and provide fifty men with torches and 
muskets, and while the chaplain should pronounce his 
most terrible exorcisms upon the fatal stone, that the 
baron, followed by Hans and his most courageous attend- 
ants, should institute a regular siege of the Schreckenstein 
in the middle of the night. To surprise Albert in this 
manner would be the sure way to throw him into a state 
of derangement, and perhaps even of violent frenzy ; and 
Consuelo, therefore, by force of arguments and prayers, 
prevailed upon Wenceslawa not to take any step without 
her advice. What she proposed was, to leave the chateau 
the following night, and accompanied only by the canoness, 
and followed at a distance by Hans and the chaplain only, 
to examine the fire of the Schreckenstein on the spot. 
But this resolution was beyond the strength of the canon- 
ess. She was firmly persuaded that an assembly of demons 
was held on the Stone of Terror, and all that Consuelo 
could obtain was, that the drawbridge should be lowered 
at midnight, and that the baron with some other 
volunteers should follow her, without arms and in the 
greatest silence. It was agreed that this attempt should 
be concealed from Count Christian, whose great age and 
feeble health unfitted him for such an expedition in the 
cold and unwholesome night air, and who would yet wish 
to join it if he were informed. All was executed as Con- 
suelo desired. The baron, the chaplain and Hans accom- 
panied her. She advanced alone, a hundred steps in front 


238 


ComUELO. 


of her escort, and ascended the Schreckenstein with a cour- 
age worthy of Bradamante. But in proportion as she ap- 
proached, the brightness which seemed to issue in rays 
from the fissures of the rock was extinguished by degrees, 
and when she reached the summit, profound darkness en- 
veloped the mountain from the summit to the base. A 
deep silence and gloomy solitude reigned all around. She 
called Zdenko, Cynabre, and even Albert, although in ut- 
tering the latter name her voice trembled. All was mute, 
and echo alone answered her unsteady voice. 

She returned toward her companions, completely dis- 
heartened. They praised her courage to the skies, and 
ventured in their turn to explore the spot she had just 
quitted, but without success; and all returned in silence to 
the chdteau, where the canoness, who waited for them at 
the gate, felt her last hope vanish at their recitals. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

CoNSUELO, after receiving the thanks of the good Wen- 
ceslawa, and the kiss which she imprinted upon her 
forehead, proceeded toward her apartment cautiously, in 
order not to awaken Amelia, from whom the enterprise 
had been concealed. She slept on the first fioor, while the 
chamber of the canoness was in the basement story. But 
in ascending the stairs she let her light fall, and it was ex- 
tinguished before she could recover it. She thought she 
could easily find her way without it, especially as the day 
began to dawn; but whether from absence of mind, or that 
her courage, after an exertion too great for her sex, aban- 
doned her of a sudden, she was so much agitated that on 
reaching the story on which her apartment was situated, 
she did not stop there, but continued to ascend to the up- 
per story, and entered the gallery leading to Albert’s cham- 
ber, which was situated almost immediately over hers. 
But she stopped, chilled with affright, at the entrance of 
the gallery, on seeing a thin dark form glide along before 
her, as if its feet did not touch the floor, and enter the 
chamber toward which Consuelo was hastening under the 
idea that it was her own. In the midst of her terror she 
had presence f mind enough to examine this figure and 


CONSUELO. 


239 


to ascertain by a rapid glance in the indistinct light of 
the dawn that it wore the form and dress of Zdenko. 
Bat what was he going to do in Consuelo’s apartment at 
such an hour, and with what message could he have been 
entrusted for her? She did not feel disposed to encounter 
such a tete-a-t4te, and descended the stairs to seek the 
canoness; but upon reaching the flight below she recog- 
nized her corridor and the door of her apartment, aiid 
perceived that it was Albertis into which she had just seen 
Zdenko enter. 

Then a thousand conjectures presented themselves to 
her mind, which had now become somewhat composed. 
IIow could the idiot have penetrated at night into a castle 
so well guarded and so carefully examined every evening by 
the canoness and the domestics? The apparition of Zdenko 
confirmed her in the idea which she had always entertained, 
that there was some secret outlet from the chateau, and 
perhaps a subterranean communication with the Schrecken- 
stein. She ran to the door of the canoness, who was shut 
up in her gloomy cell, and who uttered a loud cry on 
seeing her appear without alight, and somewhat pale. Be 
not disturbed, my dear madam, said the young girl ; '‘I 
have just met with a strange occurrence, but one which 
need not terrify you in the least. I have just seen Zdenko 
enter Count Albert’s chamber.” 

‘‘Zdenko! you must be dreaming, my child; how could 
he have got in? I closed all the gates with the same care 
as usual, and during the whole of your trip to the Schreck- 
enstein I kept good guard; the bridge was raised, and 
when you had all crossed it on your return, I remained be- 
hind to see it raised again.” 

“ However that may be, madam, Zdenko is neverthe- 
less in Count Albert’s chamber. You have only to go 
there to be convinced of it.” 

“ I will go immediately,” replied the canoness, and 
drive him put as he deserves. The wretched creature must 
have come in during the day. But what object could he 
have in coming here? Most probably he is looking for 
Albert, or has come to wait for him — a sure proof, my poor 
child, that he knows no more where he is than we do our- 
selves.” 

“ Well, let’s question him, however,” said Consuelo. ^ 

In one instant,” said the canoness, who in preparing 


240 


CON8VELO. 


for bed, had taken off two of her petticoats, and who con- 
sidered herself too lightly dressed with the remaining 
three; I cannot present myself thus before a man, my 
dear. Go and look for the chaplain or my brother the 
baron, whichever you can find first — we must not expose 
ourselves alone before this crazy man. But what am I 
thinking of? A young person like you cannot go and 
knock at the doors of these gentlemen. Wait a moment, 
I will hurry; I shall be ready in an instant.'’^ 

And she began to rearrange her dress, the more slowly be- 
cause -she was hurried, and because, her regular habits be- 
ing deranged, she hardly knew what she was about. Con- 
suelo, impatient at so long a delay, during which Zdenko 
might have time to leave Albert’s chamber, and hide him- 
self in the castle so that he could not be found, recovered 
all her energy. ^^Dear madam,” said she, lighting a can- 
dle, will you please to call the gentlemen? I will go in 
the meantime and see that Zdenko does not escape us.” 

She mounted the two flights hastily, and with a cour- 
ageous hand opened Albert’s door, which yielded without 
resistance; but she found the apartment deserted. She 
entered a neighboring cabinet, raised all the curtains, and 
even ventured to look under the bed and behind the furni- 
ture. Zdenko was no longer there, and had left no trace 
of his entrance. 

There is no one here,” said she to the canoness, who 
came trotting along followed by Hans and the chaplain: the 
baron was already in bed and asleep, and they could not 
awaken him. 

begin to fear,” said the chaplain, a little dissatisfied 
at the fright they had given him, that the Signora Por- 
porina may have been the dupe of her own illusions ” 

"'No, Mr. Chaplain,” replied Consuelo quickly, "no one 
here is less so than I am.” 

"And in truth no one has more courage and steady 
friendship,” replied the good man; "but in your ardent 
hope you imagine, signora, that you see indications where 
unhappily none exist.” 

"Father,” said the canoness, "the Porporina has the 
courage of a lion united to the wisdom of a sage. If she has 
seen Zdenko, Zdenko has been here. We must search for 
him through the whole house; and as, thank God! every 
outlet is well closed, he cannot escape us.” 


CONSUELO. 


241 


They roused the domestics and searched everywhere. 
Not a chest of drawers did they leave unopened, nor a 
piece of furniture unmoved. They displaced all the forage 
in the graneries, and Hans had even the simplicity to look 
into the baron’s great boots. But Zdenko was not found 
there, any more than elsewhere. They began to think 
that Oonsuelo must have been dreaming; but she remained 
more than ever convinced of the necessity of discovering 
the secret outlet from the chateau, and resolved to employ 
all her energy in the attempt. She had taken but a few 
hours’ repose when she commenced her examination. The 
wing of the building containing her apartment (in which' 
was Albert’s also) rested against, and was as it were sup- 
ported by the hill. Albert himself had chosen this 
picturesque situation, which enabled him to enjoy a fine 
view toward the south, and to have on the eastern side a 
pretty little garden, occupying a terrace on a level with the 
cabinet in which he studied. He had a great taste for 
flowers, and cultivated some very rare species upon this 
square of soil which had been brought to the barren sum- 
mit of the eminence. The terrace was surrounded by a 
heavy freestone wall about breast-high, built upon the 
shelving rock, and from this elevated post the eye com- 
manded the precipice on the other side, and a portion of the 
vast serrated outline of the Boehmer Wald. Consuelo, who 
had not before visited this spot, admired its beautiful sit- 
uation and picturesque arrangement, and requested the 
chaplain to explain to her what use was formerly made of 
the terrace, before the castle had been transformed from a 
fortress into a baronial residence. 

^^It was,” said he, ^^an ancient bastion, a sort of forti- 
fied platform, whence the garrison could observe the move- 
ments of troops in the valley and the surrounding moun- 
tains. There is no pass through the mountains which 
cannot be discovered from this spot. Formerly a high wall 
with loopholes on all sides surrounded the platform, and 
protected its occupants from the arrows and balls of an 
enemy.” 

And what is this?” asked Consuelo, approaching a 
cistern which was in the center of the parterre, and into 
which there was a descent by means of a narrow, steep, 
and winding staircase. 

“ That is a cistern which always furnished an abundant 


242 


aONSUKLO. 


supply of excellent rock-water to tlie besieged — a resource 
of incalculable value to a stronghold/' 

Then this water is good to drink?" said Consuelo, ex- 
amining the greenish and moss-covered water of the cis- 
tern. It seems to me quite muddy." 

“ It is no longer good, or at least it is not always so, and 
Count Albert only uses it to water his flowers. I must tell 
you that for two years an extraordinary phenomenon has 
occurred in this cistern. The spring — for it is one, the 
source of which is more distant in the heart of the moun- 
tain — has become intermittent. For whole weeks the 
•level is extraordinarily low, and when that is the case 
Count Albert has water drawn by Zdenko from the well in 
the great court, to refrcsh his cherished plants. Then, 
all of a sudden, in the course of a single night and some- 
times even in an hour, the cistern is filled with a luke- 
warm water, muddy as you now see it. Sometimes it 
empties rapidly; at others the water remains a long time, 
and is purified by degrees, until it becomes cold and limpid 
as rock-crystal. A phenomenon of this kind must have 
taken place last night, for even yesterday I saw the cistern 
clear and quite full, and now it looks muddy as if it had 
been emptied and filled anew." 

Then these phenomena do not occur at regular in- 
tervals?" 

By no means, and I should have examined them with 
care, if Count Albert, who prohibits all entrance to his apart- 
. ments and garden, with that gloomy reserve which char- 
acterizes all his actions, had not forbidden me the amuse- 
ment. I have thought, and still think, that the bottom of 
the cistern is choked up by mosses and wall plants, which 
at times close the entrance of the subterranean waters, and 
afterward yield to the force of the spring." 

^^But how do you explain the sudden disappearance of 
the water at other times?" 

^'By the great quantity which the count uses to water 
his flowers." 

^‘But it seems to me that it would require great labor to 
empty this cistern. It cannot be very deep, then?" 

^‘ Sot deep! It is impossible to find the bottom." 

In that case, your explanation is not satisfactory," said 
Consuelo, struck by the chaplain's stupidity. 

'• Well, find a better," returned he, somewhat confused, 
and a little piqued at his own want of sagacity. 


GONSUELO, 


243 


‘‘ Certainly I will find a better,” thought Consuelo, who 
felt deeply interested in the capricious changes of the 
fountain. 

If you ask Count Albert what it signifies,” continued 
the chaplain, desirous to display a little witty incredulity, 
in order to recover his superiority in the eyes of the clear- 
sighted stranger, ‘‘ he will tell you that these are his 
mother^s tears, which dry up and are renewed again in the 
bosom of the mountain. The famous Zdenko, to whom 
you attribute so much penetration, would swear to you 
that there is a siren concealed therein, who sings most ex- 
quisitely to those who have ears to hear her. Between 
them they have baptized this well the Fountain of Tears. 
It is a very poetic explanation, and those who believe in 
pagan fables may be satisfied with it.” 

‘‘1 shall not be satisfied with it,” thought Consuelo ; 

I will know how these tears are dried.” 

‘^ As for myself,” pursued the chaplain, I have 
thought there must be an escape of the water in some 
corner of the cistern.” 

It- seems to me,” replied Consuelo, ^^that unless that 
were so, the cistern, being supplied by a spring, would con- 
stantly overflow.” 

Doubtless, doubtless,” said the chaplain, not wishing 
to appear as if he had thought of that for the first time ; 

very little consideration must make that apparent. But 
there must be some remarkable derangement in the 
channels of the water, since it no longer preserves the 
same level it did formerly.” 

Are they natural channels, or aqueducts made by the 
hands of men?” asked the persevering Consuelo; ^‘that 
is what I should wish to know.” 

‘^That is what no one can ascertain,” replied the chap- 
lain, since Count Albert does not wish to have his pre- 
cious fountain touched, and has absolutely forbidden that 
it should be cleaned out.” 

I was certain of it,” said Consuelo, retiring ; and I 
think you would do well to respect his wishes, for God 
knows what misfortune would happen to him if any one 
attempted to thwart his siren !” 

I am beginning to be convinced,” said the chaplain, 
on quitting Consuelo, ^^that this young person’s mind is 
no less deranged tlian the count’s. Can insanity be con- 


244 


CONSUELO, 


tagioiis? Or did Master Porpora send her to us, in order 
that the country air might restore her brain to a healthy 
condition? To see the pertinacity with which she made 
me explain the mystery of the cistern, one would suppose 
that she was the daughter of some engineer of the 
Venetian canals, and wished to appear well informed on 
the matter ; but I see by her last words, as well as by the 
hallucinations she had respecting Zdenko this morning, 
and the pleasant excursion she led us last night to the 
Schreckenstein, that it is a phantasy of the same nature. 
Can it be possible that she expects to find Count Albert at 
the bottom of this well? Unfortunate young people ! 
would that you could find there reason and truth !” 
Thereupon the good chaplain proceeded to repeat his 
breviary while waiting for the dinner-hour. 

It must be,” thought Consuelo on her side, ^Hhat 
idleness and apathy engender a singular weakness of mind, 
since this holy man, who has read and learned so much, 
has not the least suspicion of my presentiment respecting 
that fountain. And yet they call Zdenko imbecile !” So 
saying, Consuelo went to give the young baroness a music 
lesson until the time should arrive when she could renew 
her examination. 


CHAPTEK XL. 

Have you ever been present at the falling of the 
water, or seen it reascend?” said Consuelo in a low voice 
to the chaplain, as he sat comfortably digesting his dinner 
during the evening. 

What ! what did you say?” cried he, bounding up in 
his chair, and rolling his great round eyes. 

“1 was speaking to you of the cistern,” returned, she, 
without being disconcerted ; have you ever yourself ob- 
served the occurrence of the phenomenon?” 

‘‘ Ah ! yes — the cistern — I remember,” replied he with 
a smile of pity. There !” thought he, her crazy fit 
has attacked her again.” 

"^But you have not answered my question, my dear 
chaplain,” said Consuelo, who pursued her object with 
that kind of eagerness which characterized all her thoughts 


CJONSUELO. Uo 

iliid actions, and which was not prompted in the least by 
any malicious feeling toward the worthy man. 

I must confess, mademoiselle,^" replied he coldly, 
‘Hhat I was never fortunate enough to observe that to 
which you refer, and I assure you I never lost my sleep on 
that account."" 

Oh ! I am very certain of that,"" replied the impatient 
Oonsuelo. 

The chaplain shrugged his shoulders, and with a great 
effort rose from his chair in order to escape from so very 
ardent an inquirer. 

Well ! since no one here is willing to lose an hour"s sleep 
for so important a discovery, I will devote my whole night 
to it if necessary,"" thought Oonsuelo ; and while waiting 
for the hour of retiring, she wrapped herself in her man- 
tle and proceeded to take a turn in the garden. 

The night was cold and bright, and the mists of evening 
dispersed in proportion as the moon, then full, ascended 
toward the empyrean. The stars twinkled more palely at 
her approach, and the atmosphere was dry and clear. 
Oonsuelo, excited but not overpowered by the mingled 
effects of fatigue, want of sleep, and the generous 
but perhaps rather unhealthy sympathy she experienced 
for Albert, felt a slight sensation of fever which 
the cool evening air could not dissipate. It seemed 
to her as if she touched upon the fulfillment of her enter- 
prise, and a romantic presentment, which she interpreted 
as a command and encouragement from Providence, kept 
her mind uneasy and agitated. She seated herself upon 
a little grassy hillock studded with larches, and began to 
listen to the feeble and plaintive sound of the streamlet at 
the bottom of the valley. But it seemed to her as if an- 
other voice, still more sweet and plaintive, mingled with 
the murmurings of the water, and by degrees floated up- 
ward to her ears. She stretched herself upon the turf, in 
order, being nearer the earth, to hear better those light 
sounds which the breeze wafted toward her every moment. 
At last she distinguished Zdenko"s voice. He sang in 
German, and by degrees she could distinguish the follow- 
ing words, tolerably well arranged to a Bohemian air, 
which was characterized by the same simple and plaintive 
expression as those she had already heard. 

There is down there, down there, a soul in pain and 
in labor, which awaits her deliverance. 


COmUELO. 


246 

^^Her deliverance, her consolation, so often promised. 

The deliverance seems enchained, the consolation seems 
pitiless. 

There is down there, down there, a soul in pain and 
in labor, which is weary of waiting.” 

When the voice ceased singing, Oonsuelo rose, looked in 
every direction for Zdenko, searched the whole park and 
garden to find him, called him in various places, but was 
obliged to return to the castle without having seen him. 

But an hour afterward, when the whole household had 
joined in a long prayer for Count Albert, and when every- 
body had retired to rest, Oonsuelo hastened to place her- 
self near the Fountain of Tears, and seating herself upon 
the margin amid the thick mosses and water plants which 
grew there naturally, and the irises which Albert had 
planted, she fixed her eyes upon the motionless water, in 
which the moon, then arrived at the zenith, was reflected 
as in a mirror. 

After waiting almost an hour, and 'just as the courage- 
ous maiden, overcome by fatigue, felt her eyelids growing 
heavy, she was aroused by a slight noise at the surface of 
the water. She opened her eyes, and saw the spectarum 
of the moon agitated, broken, and at last spread in lumin- 
ous circles upon the mirror of the fountain. At the same 
time a dull rushing sound, at first imperceptible but soon 
impetuous, became apparent, and she saw the water gradu- 
ally sink, whirling about as in a funnel, and in less than a 
quarter of an hour disappear in the depths of the abyss. 

She ventured to descend several steps. The spiral stair- 
case, which appeared to have been built for the pur- 
pose of permitting the household to reach at pleasure the 
varying level of the water, was formed of granite blocks 
half buried in the rock, or hewn out of it. These slimy 
and slippery steps afforded no means of support, and were 
lost in the frightful depth. The darkness, and the noise 
of the water which still splashed at the bottom of the im- 
measurable precipice, joined to the impossibility of tread- 
ing securely with her delicate feet upon the stringy ooze, ar- 
rested Oonsuelo in her mad attempt; she ascended back- 
ward with great difficulty, and seated herself, terrified and 
trembling, upon the first step. 

In the meantime, the water still seemed to be continually 
receding into the bosom of the earth. The noise became 


CONSUELO. 


247 


more and more remote, till at last it ceased entirely, and 
Consuelo pondered on the propriety of getting a light in 
order to examine the interior of the cistern as far as possi- 
ble from above; but she feared to miss the arrival of him 
whom she expected, and remained patient and motionless 
for nearly an hour longer. At last she thought she per- 
ceived a feeble glimmer at the bottom of the 'well, and 
leaning anxiously forward, saw that the wavering light 
ascended little by little. In a short time she was no longer 
in doubt; Zdenko was ascending the spiral staircase, aided 
by an iron chain which was secured to the rocky sides. 
The noise which he made in raising the chain from time 
to time and again letting it fall, made Consuelo aware of 
the existence of this species of balustrade, which ceased at a 
certain height, and which she could neither see nor suspect. 
Zdenko carried a lantern which he hung on a hook set apart 
for this purpose and inserted in the rock about twenty feet 
below the surface of the soil; then he mounted the rest of 
the staircase lightly and rapidly, without any chain or appar- 
parent means of support. However, Consuelo, who observed 
every thing with the greatest attention, saw that he helped 
himself along by catching hold of certain projecting points 
in the rock, of some wall plants more vigorous than tlie 
rest, and of some bent nails which stood out from tlie 
sides, and with which he seemed perfectly familiar. As 
soon as he had ascended high enough to see Consuelo, she 
concealed herself from his view by stooping behind the 
semi-circular stone wall which bordered the well, 
and which was interrupted only at the entrance of the 
steps. Zdenko emerged into the light, and began slowly 
to gather flowers in the garden with great care and as if 
making a selection, until he had formed a large bouquet. 
Then he entered Albert's study, and through the glass 
door Consuelo saw him for a long while moving the books, 
and searching for one which he appeared at last to have 
found; for he returned toward the cistern, laughing and 
talking to himself in a satisfied tone, but in a low and 
almost inaudible voice, so much did he seem divided be- 
tween the necessity of muttering to himself according 
to his usual custom, and the fear of wakening the family 
in the castle. 

Consuelo had not yet asked herself whether she should 
address him, and request him to conduct her to Albert; 


248 


CONSVELO, 


and it must be confessed, at that moment, confounded by 
what she saw, discouraged in the midst of her enterprise, 
joyous at having discovered what she so much longed 
to know, but at the same time dismayed at the thoughts of 
descending into the entrails of the earth and the abyss of 
water, she did not feel sufficient courage to go forward to 
the end, but allowed Zdenko to descend as he had 
mounted, resume his lantern and disappear, singing in a 
voice which gained confidence as he sank into the depths 
of his retreat. 

The deliverance is enchained, the consolation is piti- 
less.” 

With outstretched neck and palpitating heart, Oonsuelo 
had his name ten times upon her lips to recall him. She 
was about to decide by a heroic effort, when she suddenly 
reflected that such a surprise might make the unfortunate 
man stagger upon the difficult and dangerous staircase, 
and perhaps lose his footing. She refrained therefore, 
promising herself that she would be more courageous on 
the next day at the right time. 

She waited some time longer to see the water again 
ascend, and this time the phenomenon took place much 
more speedily. Hardly fifteen minutes had elapsed from 
her losing the sound of Zdenko’s voice and the light of his 
lantern, before a dull noise like the distant rumbling of 
thunder was heard, and the water, rushing with violence, 
ascended, whirling and dashing against the walls of its 
prison like a seething caldron. This sudden irruption of 
water had something so frightful in its appearance, that 
Consuelo trembled for poor Zdenko, asking herself if, in 
sporting with such dangers and governing thus the forces 
of nature, there was no risk of his being overpowered by 
the violence of the current, and of her seeing him float to 
the surface of the fountain, drowned and bruised like the 
slimy plants which were tossed on its waves. 

Still the means of accomplishing this must be very 
simple! it only needed perhaps to lower or raise a flood-- 
gate, perhaps only to place a stone on his arrival and 
remove it on his return. But might not this man, always 
so absent and lost in his strange reveries, be mistaken, and 
remove the stone a little too soon? Could he have come 
by the subterranean path which gave passage to the water 
of the spring? Nevertheless I must pass it with him, or 


C0N8UEL0. 


m 


without liim/^said Coiisuelo, '"and that no later than tlio 
coming night; for there is doivn there a soul in labor and 
in pam, ivhich avails for me, and tuhich is loeary of ivaiting. 
These words were not sung unintentionally, and it was not 
without some object that Zdenko, who detests German and 
pronounces it with difficulty, made use of that language 
to-day/^ 

At last she retired to rest, but she had terrible dreams 
all the rest of the night. Her fever was gradually gaining 
ground. She did not perceive it, so strong did she feel her 
courage and resolution; but every moment she started out 
of her sleep, imagining herself still upon the steps of that 
frightful staircase, and unable to reascend, while the water 
rose below her with the roar of thunder and the rapidity 
of lightning. She was so changed the next day that every 
body remarked the alteration in her features. The chap- 
lain was unable to refrain from confiding to the canoness, 
that this agreeable and obligmg person appeared to him to 
have her brain somewhat deranged; and the good Wences- 
lawa, who was not accustomed to see so much courage and 
devotion, began to fear that the Porporina was a very 
imaginative young lady, and had a very excitable nervous 
temperament. She relied too much on lier good doors 
cased in iron, and her faithful keys always jingling in her 
girdle, to give credence for any length of time to the 
entrance and escape of Zdenko the night before the last. 
She therefore spoke to Oonsuelo in affectionate and com- 
passionate terms, beseeching her not to identify herself 
with the unhappiness of the family so as to destroy her 
health, and made an effort to inspire her with hopes of 
her nephew^s speedy return, which she herself in the secret 
recesses of her heart began to lose. 

But she was agitated at once by sentiments of fear and 
liope, when Oonsuelo, with a look glowing with satisfaction 
and a smile of gentle pride, replied, "You have good 
reason to hope, dear madam, and to wait with confidence. 
Count Albert is alive and as I hope not very ill; for in his 
retreat he is still interested in his books and flowers. I am 
certain of it, and could give you proofs. 

"What do you mean to say, my dear child?’^ cried the 
canoness, struck by her air of conviction. "What have 
you learned? what have you discovered? Speak, in the 
name of Heaven! restore life to a despairing family!” 


250 


CONSUELO. 


^‘Say to Count Christian that his son lives and is not 
far from this. This is as true as that I love and respect 
you.” 

The canoness rose for the purpose of hastening to her 
brother, who had not yet descended to the saloon; but a 
look and a sigh from the chaplain arrested her steps. 

Let us not inconsiderately inspire such joyful hopes in 
my poor Christian’s breast,” said she, sighing in her turn. 

If the fact should contradict your sweet promises, my 
dear child, we should give a death-blow to his unhappy 
father.” 

^^Then you doubt my words?” replied the astonished 
Consuelo. 

God forbid, noble Nina! But you may be under an 
illusion. Alas, this has happened so often to ourselves! 
You say that you have proofs, my dear daughter — can you 
not mention them?” 

I cannot — at least it seems to me I ought not,” said 
Consuelo, somewhat embarrassed. have discovered a 
secret to which Count Albert evidently attaches great im- 
portance, and I do not think I can reveal it without his 
permission.” 

'MVithout his permission?” cried the canoness, looking 
at the chaplain irresolutely. Can she have seen him?” 
The chaplain shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, not 
comprehending the pain his incredulity inflicted on the 
poor canoness. 

“ I have not seen him,” returned Consuelo; but I 
shall see him soon, and so will you, I hope. But I fear I 
should retard his return if I thwarted his wishes by my 
indiscretion.” 

May Divine truth dwell in your heart, generous 
creature, and speak through your lips !” said Wenceslawa, 
looking at her with anxious and pitying eyes. Keep 
your secret if you have one, and restore Albert to us if it 
be in your power. All that I know is, that if this be 
realized I will embrace your knees, as at this moment I 
kiss your poor forehead — which is moist and burning,” 
added she, turning toward the chaplain with an air of 
great emotion, after having pressed her lips to the fevered 
forehead of the young girl. 

''Even if she be mad,” said she to the latter, as soon as 
they were alone, "she is still an angel of goodness, and 


CONStlELO. 


251 


she seems more interested in our sufferings than we are 
ourselves. Ah, father, there seems to be a curse upon 
this house! Every one who has a lofty and noble heart 
seems struck here with derangement, and our life is passed 
in pitying what we are constrained to admire.” 

‘‘I do not deny the good intentions of this young 
stranger,” replied the chaplain. But that there is 
delirium in her actions you cannot doubt, madam. She 
must have dreamed of Count Albert last night, and im- 
prudently gives us her visions as certainties. Be careful 
not to agitate the pious and resigned spirit of your vener- 
able brother by such unfounded assertions. Perhaps also 
it would be more prudent not to encourage too much the 
rash enterprises of Signora Porporina. They might lead 
her into dangers of a different nature from those she has 
been willing to encounter hitherto ” 

I do not comprehend you,” said the Canoness Wences- 
lawa, with great simplicity. 

I feel much embarrassed how to explain myself,” 
returned the worthy man, still it seems to me that — if a 
secret understanding, very honorable and very disinter- 
ested without doubt, should be established between this 
young artist and the noble count ” 

Well?” said the canoness, opening her eyes very wide. 

Well, madam! do yon not think that sentiments of 
interest and solicitude, entirely innocent in their origin, 
might in a little time, with the aid of circumstances and 
romantic ideas, become dangerous to the repose and dignity 
of the young musician?” 

I never would have thought of that,” said the canon- 
ess, struck by this observation. But do you think, 
father, that the Porporina could forget her humble and 
precarious position so far as to become attached to one so 
much her superior as my nephew Albert of Eudolstadt?” 

The Count Albert of Eudolstadt might himself con- 
tribute unintentionally to such a feeling, by the inclina- 
tion he evinces to treat as prejudices the time-honored 
advantages of rank and birth.” 

You make me seriously uneasy,” said Wenceslawa, 
whose pride of family constituted her chief and almost 
only failing. Can this unfortunate feeling have already 
taken root* in the child's heart? Can her agitation and 
her earnest desire to discover Albert, conceal any motive 


CONSUELO. 


^52 

less pure than her natural generosity of soul and attach- 
ment to us?’^ 

‘‘I flatter myself not as yet,” replied the chaplain, 
whose only desire was to play an important part in the 
affairs of the family by his advice and his counsels, while 
preserving at the same time the appearance of timid re- 
spect and submissive obsequiousness. Still, my dear 
daughter, you must have your eyes open to passing events, 
and not allow your vigilance to slumber in the presence of 
such dangers. This delicate part it is your duty to per- 
form, and it demands all the prudence and penetration 
Avith which Heaven has endowed you.” 

After this conversation the canoness' thoughts were in a 
state of the utmost confusion, and her anxiety took en- 
tirely a new direction. She almost forgot that Albert was 
as it were lost to her, perhaps dying, perhaps even dead, 
and thought only of preventing the effects of an affection, 
which in her secret heart she called disproportionate ; like 
the Indian in the fable, who, pursued into a tree by terror 
under the form of a tiger, amuses himself by contending 
Avith annoyance in the form of a fly buzzing about his head. 

All day long she kept her eyes fixed upon the Porporina, 
watching all her steps and anxiously analyzing every 
Avord she uttered. Our heroine, for the courageous Con- 
suelo was one at that moment in all the force of the term, 
easily perceived this anxiety, but was far from attributing 
it to any other feeling than the doubt of her fulfilling her 
promise to restore Albert. She never thought of con- 
cealing her agitation, so much was she convinced, by 
the tranquility and firmness of her conscience, that 
she ought to be proud of her project rather than 
blush for it. The modest confusion which the youhg 
counPs enthusiastic expression of attachment for her had 
excited in her mind a feAv days before, gradually faded 
away before her serious resolution, free as it was from the 
least shade of vanity. The bitter sarcasms of Amelia, 
who had a suspicion of the nature of her enterprise Avith- 
out knowing its details, did not move her in the least. 
She hardly heard them, and only answered by smiles; 
leaving to the canoness, whose ears were opened wider 
every hour, the care of recording them, of commenting 
upon them, and finding in them a terrible meaning. 


CONSUELO. 


253 


CHAPTER XLL 

Nevertheless, seeing that she was watched by 
Wenceslawa with more vigilance than ever, Consuelo 
feared that she might be thwarted by a mistaken zeal, 
and composed herself to a more restrained demeanor; 
thanks to which precaution she was enabled during the day 
to escape from the canoness^s attention, and with nimble 
feet to take the direction of the Schreckenstein. She had no 
other project in view at the moment, than to meet Zdenko, 
to lead him to an explanation, and ascertain positively 
if he was willing to conduct her to Albert. She found him 
quite close to the castle on the path which led to the 
Schreckenstein. He seemed on his way to meet her, and 
addressed her with great volubility in Bohemian. Alas ! 
I do not comprehend you,^^ said Consuelo, as soon as she 
could find an opportunity of speaking ; I hardly know 
German, that harsh language which you hate like slavery, 
and which to me is as sad as exile* But since we cannot 
otherwise understand each other, consent to speak it with 
me; we speak it each as badly as the other. I promise you 
to learn Bohemian, if you will teach it to me.” 

At these friendly words Zdenko became serious, and 
stretching out to Consuelo his dry and callous hand, which 
she did not hesitate to clasp in hers, Sweet daughter of 
God,” said he, in German, "" I will teach you my language 
and my songs. AVhich do you wish me to begin with ?” 

Consuelo thought it better to yield to his fancies, and 
employ the vehicle of song in questioning him. ‘‘1 wish 
that you would sing to me,” said she, the ballad of Count 
Albert.” 

There are,” replied he, more than two hundred 
thousand ballads about my brother Albert. I cannot teach 
them to you, as you would not comprehend them. Every 
day I make new ones, which do not in the least resemble 
the old. Ask me for anything else.” 

Why should I not comprehend them ? I am the con- 
solation. I am called Consuelo for you — do you under- 
stand ? and for Count Albert who alone knows me here.” 

You Consuelo ?” said Zdenko with a mocking laugh. 
^^Oh, you do not know what you say. The deliverance is 
enchained 


254 


CONSUELO, 


I know — The consolation is pitiless. But it is you who 
are ignorant, Zdenko. The deliverance has broken its 
chains, the consolation has freed itself from its shackles.” 

‘‘False! false I madness, German talk!” returned 
Zdenko, ceasing his laugh and his gambols; “you do not 
know how to sing.” 

“Yes, I do know,” said Consuelo; “listen.” And she 
sang the first phrase of his song of the three mountains, 
which she had fixed in her memory, with the words which 
Amelia had assisted her to recollect and pronounce. 
Zdenko heard her with transports of delight, and said with 
a deep sigh, “ I love you dearly, my sister — much, very 
much! Shall I teach you another song.” 

“ Yes 3 that of Count Albert, but first in German; after- 
ward you shall teach it to me in Bohemian.” 

“How does it begin?” said Zdenko, looking at her rogu- 
ishly. 

Consuelo began the air of the song she had heard the day 
before, “ There is down there, doicn there, a soul in labor 
and in pain ” 

“ 0, that was yesterday’s; I do not recollect it to-day,” 
said Zdenko, interrupting her. 

“ Well, tell me to-day’s.” 

“The first words ? you must tell me the first words.” 

“ The first words ? Here they are — listen: Count Albert 
is down yonder, down yonder in the grotto of Schrecken- 
stein ” 

Hardly had she pronounced these words when Zdenko 
suddenly changed his countenance and attitude ; and his 
eyes flashed with indignation. He made three steps back- 
ward, raised his hands as if to curse Consuelo, and began 
to talk Bohemian to her with all the energy of anger and 
menace. Frightened at first, but reassured on seeing that 
he retired from her, Consuelo wished to recall him, and 
made a movement as if to follow him. He turned infu- 
riated, and seizing an enormous stone, which he seemed to 
raise without difficulty in his weak and fleshless arms: 
“ Zdenko has never done harm to any one,” cried he in 
German ; “ Zdenko would not break the wing of a poor fly, 
and if a little child wished to kill him, he would allow him- 
self to be killed by a little child. But if you look at me 
again, if you say another word to me, daughter of evil ! 
liar! Austrian ! Zdenko will crush you like an earthworm. 


CONSUELO. 


255 


if he should afterward be obliged to throw himself into the 
torrent to cleanse his body and his soul from the human 
blood which he had shed 

Consuelo, terrified, took to flight, and at the bottom of 
the hill met a countryman, who, astonished at seeing her 
running, , pale, and as if pursued by some one, asked her if 
she had met a wolf. Consuelo, wishing to know if 
Zdenko was subject to fits of furious madness, said that 
she had met the mnocent, and that he had frightened her. 

‘‘ You must not be afraid of the innocent,^^ said the coun- 
tryman, smiling at what he considered the cowardice of a 
fine lady. ^‘Zdenko is not wicked ; he is always singing or 
laughing, or reciting stories which nobody understands, 
and which are very beautiful.'^ 

But sometimes lie gets angry, and then he threatens 
and throws stones?^’ 

Never, never, replied the countryman; that never 
has happened. You need never be afraid of Zdenko. 
Zdenko is as innocent as an angel. 

When she had recovered from her fright, Consuelo felt 
that the countryman must be right, and that she had pro- 
voked by an imprudent word the first and only attack of 
fury which the innocent Zdenko had ever experienced. 
She reproached herself bitterly. ‘‘I was too hasty,^^ said 
she to herself; I have awakened in the peaceful mind of 
this man, deprived as he is of what is proudly called rea- 
sen, a suffering to which until this moment he was a 
stranger, and which may now seize upon him on the slight- 
est occasion. He was formerly only partially deranged, 
perhaps I have* made him a confirmed madman. 

But she became still more dejected in thinking of the 
motives for Zdenko^s anger. It was beyond all doubt that 
she had guessed rightly "in naming the Schreckenstein as 
the place of Albert's retreat. But with what jealous and 
anxious care did Albert and Zdenko wish to hide this 
secret even from her! She, it was plain, was not excepted 
from this proscription; she had then no influence over 
Count Albert; and the feeling which prompted him to call 
her his consolation, the pains he had taken the day before 
to cause Zdenko to invoke her aid by a symbolic song, his 
confiding to his crazy follower the name of Consuelo — was 
all this solely the fantasy of the moment, and did no true 
and constant aspiration point out to him one person more 


256 


CONSUELO. 


than another as his liberator and his consolation? Even 
the name of Consolation, uttered, and as it were divined, 
bj him, was a matter of pure chance. She had not con- 
cealed from any one that she was of Spanish birth, and 
that her mother tongue was still more familiar to her than 
the Italian; and Albert, excited to a pitch of enthusiasm 
by her song, and knowing of no expression more energetic 
than that which embodied the idea for wliich his soul 
thirsted, and with which his imagination was filled, had 
addressed her in a language which he knew perfectly, and 
which no one about him except herself could understand. 

Consuelo had never been much deceived in this respect. 
Still, so fanciful and so ingenious a coincidence had 
seemed to her something providential, and her imagination 
had seized upon it without much examination. 

But now every thing was once more doubtful. Had Al- 
bert, in some new phase of his mania, forgotten the feeling 
he had experienced for her ? Was she henceforth useless 
for his relief, powerless for his welfare ? or was Zdenko, 
who had appeared so intelligent and earnest in seconding 
Albertis designs, more hopelessly deranged than Consuelo 
had been willing to suppose? Did he merely execute the 
orders of his friend, or did he completely forget them, 
when he furiously forbade to the young girl all approach 
to the Schreckenstein, and all insight into the truth? 

Well,"’"’ whispered Amelia, on her return, did you 
see Albert this evening floating in the sunset clouds? or 
will you make him come down the chimney to-night by 
some potent spell ?^^ 

Perhaps so,^' replied Consuelo, a little provoked. It 
was the first time in her life that she felt her pride 
wounded. She had entered upon her enterprise with so 
pure and disinterested a feeling, so earnest and high- 
minded a purpose, that she suffered deeply at the idea of 
being bantered and despised for want of success. 

She was dejected and melancholy all the evening; and 
the canoness, who remarked the change, did not fail to at- 
tribute it to her fear of having disclosed the fatal attach- 
ment which had been born in her heart. 

The canoness was strangely deceived. If Consuelo had 
nourished the first seeds of a new passion, she would have 
been an entire stranger to the fervent faith and holy con- 
fidence which had hitherto guided and sustained her. But 


CONSUELO. 


' 257 


so far from this, she had perhaps never experienced the 
poignant return of her former passion more strongly, than 
under these circumstances, when slie strove to withdraw 
herself from it by deeds of heroism and a sort of exalted 
humanity. 

On entering her apartment in the evening, she found on 
her spinet an old book, gilt and ornamented, which she 
immediately thought she recognized as that which she 
had seen Zdenko carry away from Albert's study the 
night before. She opened it at the page where the tassel 
was placed; it was at that penitential psalm which com- 
mences: De 'prof midis clamavi ad te. And these Latin 
words were underlined with ink wliich appeared to have 
been recently written, for it stuck a little to the opposite 
page. She turned over the leaves of the whole volume, 
which was a famous ancient Bible, called Kralic's, printed 
in 1579, but found no other indication, no marginal note, 
no letter. But this simple cry, rising as it were from the 
depths of the earth, was it not sufficiently significant, suf- 
ficiently eloquent? What a contradiction there was then 
between the expressed and constant desii'e of Albert, and 
the recent conduct of Zdenko. 

•Oonsuelo was convinced of the truth of her last supposi- 
tion. Albert, weak and helpless at the bottom of the sub- 
terranean cavern which slie supposed to be under tlie 
Schreckenstein, was perhaps detained there by Zdenko's 
senseless tenderness, lie was perhaps the victim of that 
idiot, who watched over and cherished him after his own 
fashion, kept him a close prisoner, although yielding some- 
times of his own desire to see the light of day while he exe- 
cuted Albert's messages to Oonsuelo, but opposing himself 
entirely to the success of her attempts from fear or inex- 
plicable caprice. Well," said she, I will go, even if 1 
should have to encounter real dangers; I will go, though I 
should s^m ridiculously imprudent in the eyes of stupid 
and selfish persons; I will go, though I should be humili- 
ated by the indifference of liirn who summons me. Hu- 
miliated! and how- can I be so, if he be himself really as 
crazy as poor Zdenko? I can have no feeling but one of 
pity toward either of them. I shall have done my duty. 
I shall have obeyed the voice of God which inspires me, 
and llis hand which impels me forward with irresistible 
force." 


C0N8UEL6. 


^58 

The feverish excitement in which she had been during 
the whole of the preceding days, and which, since her last 
unfortunate meeting with Zdenko, had given place to a 
painful languor, once more manifested itself both in her 
mind and body. She felt all* her strength restored, and 
hiding from Amelia the book, her enthusiasm, and her de- 
sign, she exchanged some cheerful words with her, waited 
till she had gone to sleep, and then hastened to the Foun- 
tain of Tears, furnished with a little dark lantern which 
she had procured that same morning. 

She waited along while, and was several times obliged to 
enter Albert’s study in order to revive her chilled limbs by a 
warmer air. While there, she cast a glance upon the enor- 
mous mass of books, not arranged in rows as in a library, but 
thrown pell-mell upon the floor in the middle of the 
chamber, as if with a sort of contempt and disgust. She 
ventured to open some of them. They were almost all 
written in Latin, and Consuelo could only presume that 
they were works of religious controversy, emanating from 
the Romish Church or approved by it. She was endeavor- 
ing to comprehend their titles, when she at last heard the 
bubbling of the water. She closed her lantern, hastened 
to hide herself behind the balustrade, and awaited Zdenko’s 
arrival. This time he did not stop either in the garden or 
the study, but passed through both, and crossing Albert’s 
apartment, proceeded, as Consuelo learned afterward, to 
listen at the door of the oratory, and of Count Christian’s 
chamber, in order to see whether the old man was praying 
in distress or sleeping tranquilly. This was a step which 
his own anxiety often prompted him to take without 
Albert’s suggestion, as will be seen by what follows. 

Consuelo did not hesitate as to the part she had to take; 
her plan was already arranged. She no longer trusted to 
the reason or the good-will of Zdenko; she wished to reach, 
alone and without guard, him whom she supposed a 
prisoner. Most probably there was but one path which 
led under-ground from the cistern of the chateau to that 
of the Schreckenstein. If this path was difficult or 
dangerous, at least it was practicable, since Zdenko passed 
through it every night. It cei’tainly must be so with a 
light; and Consuelo was provided with tapers, with steel, 
tinder, and flint, to strike fire in case of accident. What 
inspired her with the greatest confidence of arriving at the 


CONSUELO. 




Schreckenstein by this subterranean route, was an ancient 
story she had heard the canoness relate, of a siege formerly 
sustained by the Teutonic Order. “ Those knights,^^ said 
Wenceslawa, had in their very refectory a cistern which 
supplied them with water from the neighboring mountain, 
and when their spies wished to make a sortie to observe 
the enemy, they dried the cistern, traversed its subter- 
ranean passages, and came out at a village at some dis- 
tance which was subject to them.^^ Consuelo remembered 
that, according to the tradition of the country, the village 
which had covered the hill, called Schreckenstein since 
its destruction by fire, had been subject to the Fortress of 
the Giants, and had had secret communication with it in^ 
the time of siege. She was strengthened, therefore, both by 
reason and by tradition, in seeking this communication 
and outlet. 

She profited by the absence of Zdenko to descend into 
the well. Before doing so, however, she fell upon her 
knees, commended herself to God, and, with simple and 
unaffected piety, made a sign of the cross, as she had done 
in the wing of the theater of San Samuel before appearing 
upon the stage for the first time. Then she coui’ageously 
descended the. steep and winding stairs, searching in the 
wall for the points of support which she had seen Zdenko 
make use of, and not looking beneath her for fear of 
dizziness. She reached the iron chain without accident, 
and as soon as she had seized hold of it, felt more assured, 
and had sufficient coolness to look down toward the 
bottom of the well. There was still some water, and this 
discovery caused her a mornent^s agitation. But a little 
reflection reassured her immediately. The well might be 
very deep, but the opening in the subterranean passage by 
which Zdenko came, must be-placed at a certain distance 
below the surface of the soil. She had already descended 
fifty steps, with that address and agility which young ladies 
educated in drawing-rooms can never attain, but which 
the children of the people acquire in their sports and 
pastimes, and gives them a confidence and courage which 
they ever afterward retain. The oidy real danger was 
• that of slipping on the wet steps; but Consuelo had found 
in a corner an old slouched hat with large brims, which 
Baron Frederick had long worn in the chase, and this she 
had cut up and fastened to her shoes after the manner of 


^60 


C0N8UEL0. 


buskins. She had remarked a similar contrivance on the 
feet of Zdenko in his last nocturnal expedition. With 
these felt soles Zdenko walked through tlie corridors of the 
chateau without making any noise, and it was on this 
account he had seemed to her ratlier to glide like a ghost 
than to walk like a human being. It was also the custom 
of the Hussites thus to shoe their spies, and even their 
horses, when they attempted a surprise upon the enemy. 

At the fifty-second step, Consuelo found a sort of plat- 
form and a low arched passage-way leading from it. She 
did not hesitate to enter, and to advance in a low, narrow, 
and subterranean gallery, still dripping with the water 
which had just left it, and hewed out and arched by the 
hand of man with great solidity. She walked forward, 
without meeting any obstacle or feeling any emotion of 
fear for about five minutes, when she imagined she heard a 
slight noise behind her. 

It was perhaps Zdenko, who had descended, and was 
taking tlie road to the Schreckenstein. But she was in 
advance of him, and she quickened her pace in order not 
to be overtaken by so dangerous a traveling companion. 
He had no reason to suppose she was before him, and of 
course could not be in pursuit of her; and while he amused 
himself with singing and muttering his interminable 
stories, she would have time to reach Albert and put her- 
self under his protection. 

But the noise which she heard increased, and seemed 
like that of water which roars and strives and rushes 
forward. What could have happened? Had Zdenko per- 
ceived her design? Had he raised the sluice-gate to inter- 
cept her and swallow her up ? But he could not do this 
before passing it himself, and he was behind her. This 
reflection was not very comforting. Zdenko was capable 
of devoting himself to death and drowning with her, rather 
than betray Albert’s retreat. Still Consuelo saw no gate, 
no sluice-way, no stone in her path, which could have 
retained the water and afterward given it vent. In this 
case the water could only be before her, and the noise 
came from behind. It still increased, it mounted, it ap- 
proached with a roar like thunder. 

Suddenly Consuelo, struck by a horrible idea, perceived 
that the gallery, instead of rising, descended, at first with 
a gentle inclination, and afterward more and more rapidly. 


GONSUELO. 


261 


The unfortunate girl had mistaken the way. In her hurry, 
and confused by the thick vapor which arose from the 
bottom of the cistern, she had not seen a second arch, 
much larger, and directly opposite that wliich she had 
taken. She had entered the canal which served to carry 
away the surplus water of the well, instead of that which 
ascended to the reservoir or spring. Zdenko, returning by the 
opposite path, had quietly raised the gate; the water had fall- 
en in a cascade to the bottom of the cistern, which was already 
filled to the height of the waste passage, and was now rushing 
into the gallery in which Oonsuelo fled, almost expiring with 
terror. In a short period the gallery — which was so pro- 
portioned that tlie cistern lost less water by this outlet 
than it received by the corresponding one on the opposite 
side, and could thus be filled — would in its turn be over- 
flowed. In an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, the 
gallery would be inundated, and the inclination was still 
downward toward the abyss whither the water tended to 
precipitate itself. The vault, dripping from the roof, an- 
nounced clearly that the water filled it entirely, that there 
was no possible means of safety, and that all the speed she 
could employ would not save the unhappy victim from the 
impetuosity of the torrent. The air was already pent up 
by the great mass of water which hurried onward with a 
deafening noise; a suffocating heat impeded her respira- 
tion and produced a sort of deadening effect on all her 
faculties. Already the roaring of the unchained flood 
sounded in her very ear — already a red foam, threatening 
precursor of the coming, wave flowed over the path, and 
outstripped the uncertain and feeble steps of the terrified 
victim. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

0 MY mother!’^ she cried, ‘‘open thine arms to receive 
me! 0 Anzoleto, I love thee! 0 my God, receive my 
soul into a better world !’^ 

Hardly had she uttered this cry of agony to Heaven, 
when she tripped and stumbled over some object in her 
path. 0 surprise! 0 divine goodness! It is a steep and 
narrow staircase, opening from one of the walls of the gal- 


262 


G0N8UEL0. 


lery, and up which she rushes on the wings of fear and of 
hope! The vault rises before her — the torrent dashes for- 
ward — strikes the staircase which Oonsuelo has had just 
time to clear — engulfs the first ten steps — wets to the ankle 
the agile feet which fiy before it, and filling at last to the 
vaulted roof the gallery which Consuelo has left behind 
her, is swallowed up in the darkness, and falls with a hor- 
rible din into a deep reservoir, which the horoic girl looks 
down upon from a little platform she has reached on her 
knees and in darkness. 

Her candle has been extinguished. A violent gust of 
wind had preceded the irruption of the mass of waters. 
Oonsuelo fell prostrate upon the last step, sustained hither- 
to by the instinct of self-preservation, but ignorant if she 
was saved — if the din of this cataract was not a new disas- 
ter which was about to overtake her — if the cold spray 
which dashed up even to where she was kneeling, and 
bathed her hair, was not the chilling hand of death ex- 
tended to seize her. 

In the meantime, the reservoir is filled by degrees to the 
height of other deeper waste ways, which carry still further 
in the bowels of the earth the current of the abundant spring. 
The noise diminishes, the vapors are dissipated, and a hol- 
low and harmonious murmur echoes through the caverns. 
With a trembling hand Oonsuelo succeeds in relighting 
her candle. Her heart still beats violently against her 
bosom, but her courage is restored, and throwing herself 
on her knees she thanks God. Lastly, she examines the place 
in which she is, and throws the trembling light of her lan- 
tern upon the surrounding objects. A vast cavern, hollowed 
by the hand of nature, is extended like a roof over an 
abyss into which the distant fountain of the Schreckenstein 
fiows, and loses itself in the recesses of the mountain. 
This abyss is so deep that the water which dashes into it 
cannot be seen at the bottom; but when a stone is thrown 
in,^ it is heard falling for a space of two minutes with a 
noise resembling thunder. The echoes of the cavern re- 
peat it for a long time, and the hollow and frightful dasli 
of the water is heard still longer, and might be taken for 
the bowlings of the infernal pack. At one side of this 
cavern a narrow and dangerous path, hollowed out of the 
rock, runs along the margin of the precipice, and is lost in 
another gallery where the labor of man ceases, and which 


CONSUELO. 263 

takes an upward direction and leaves the course of the 
current. 

This is the road winch Oonsuelo must take. There is 
no other — the water has closed and entirely filled that by 
which she came. It is impossible to await Zdenko's return 
in the grotto; its dampness would be fatal, and already 
the flame of her candle grows pale, flickers, and threatens 
to expire, without the possibility of being relighted. 

Oonsuelo is not paralyzed by the horror of her situation. 
She thinks indeed that she is no longer on the road to the 
Schreckenstein, but that these subterranean galleries which 
open before her are a freak of nature, and conduct to 
places which are impassable, or to some labyrinth whence 
there is no issue. Still she will venture, were it only 
to seek a safer asylum until the next night. The next 
night, Zdenko will return and stop the currept, the gal- 
lery will be again emptied, and the captive can retrace her 
steps and once more behold the blue vault of heaven. 

Oonsuelo therefore plunged into the mysterious recesses of 
the cavern with fresh courage, attentive this time to all 
the peculiarities of the soil, and always careful to follow 
the ascending paths, without allowing her course to be 
diverted by the different galleries, apparently more spa- 
cious and more direct, which presented themselves every 
moment. By this means she was sure of not again meet- 
ing any currents of water, and of being able to retrace her 
steps. 

She continued to advance in the midst of a thousand 
obstacles. Enormous stones blocked up her path ; gigantic 
bats, awakened from their slumbers by the light of the 
lantern, came striking against it in squadrons, and whirl- 
ing around the traveler like spirits Of darkness. After the 
first emotions of surprise were over, she felt her courage 
increase at each fresh danger. Sometimes she climbed 
over immense blocks of stone which had been detached 
from the huge vault overhead, where other enormous 
masses hung from the cracked and disjointed roof, as if 
every moment about to fall and overwhelm her. At 
other times the vault became so low and narrow that Con- 
suelo was obliged to creep on her hands and knees amid a 
close and heated atmosphere, in order to force a passage. 
She proceeded thus for half an hour, when on turning a 
sharp angle which her light and agile form could hardly 




GONSVELO, 


pass, she fell from Charybclis into Scylla, on finding her- 
self face to face with Zdenko — Zdenko, at first petrified by 
surprise and frozen by terror, but soon indignant, furious, 
and menacing, as she had previously seen him. 

In this labyrinth, surrounded by such numberless 
obstacles, and aided only by a light which the want of air 
threatened to stifle every moment, Consuelofelt that flight 
was impossible. For a moment she had the idea of de- 
fending herself hand to hand against his murderous 
attempts ; for Zdenko^s wandering eyes and foaming 
mouth sufficiently announced that this time he would not 
confine himself to threats. Suddenly he took a strange 
and ferocious resolution, and began to gather huge stones 
and build them one upon the other between himself and 
Consuelo, in order to wall up the narrow gallery in which 
she was. In this way he was certain, by not emptying the 
cistern for several days, to cause her to perish with hunger, 
like the bee which incloses the incautious hornet in his 
cell by stopping up the mouth with wax. 

But it was not with wax, but with granite, that Zdenko 
built, and he carried on his work 'with astonishing rapidity. 
The amazing strength which this man, although 
emaciated and apparently so weak, displayed in collecting 
and arranging the blocks, proved to Consuelo that all re- 
sistance would be vain, and that it was better to trust to 
finding another exit by retracing her steps, than to drive 
him to extremity by irritating him. She used her utmost 
powers of entreaty and persuasion to endeavor to move 
him, Zdenko, said she, ‘‘what are you doing there, 
foolish one? Albert will reproach you with my death. 
Albert expects and calls me. I am his friend, his consol- 
ation, his safety. In destroying me, you destroy your 
friend and your brother.” 

But Zdenko, fearing to bfe persuaded, and resolved to 
continue his work, commenced to sing in his own language 
a lively and animated air, still continuing to build his 
Cyclopean wall with an active and powerful hand. 

One stone only was wanting to complete the edifice. 
Consuelo, with a feeling of terror, saw him fix it in its 
pJace. “Never,” thought she, “shall I be able to de- 
molish this wall ; I should require the hands of a giant.” 
The wall was now finished, and immediately she saw 
Zdenko commence building another, behind the first. It 


(JONSUELO. 


265 


was a quarry, a whole fortress, which he meant to heap 
up between her and Albert. He continued to sing, and 
seemed to takd extreme pleasure in his work. 

A fortunate idea at last occurred to Consuelo. She re- 
membered the famous heretical formula she had re- 
quested Amelia to explain to her, and which had so 
shocked the chaplain. ‘‘Zdenko!’^ cried she in Bohem- 
ian, through one of the openings of the badly joined wall 
which already separated them ; “ Friend Zdeiiko, may he 
who has been loronged salute thee !” 

Hardly had she pronounced these words, when they 
operated upon Zdenko like a charm : he let fall the enor- 
mous block which he held, uttered a deep sigh, and began 
to demolish his wall with even more promptitude than he 
had displayed in building it. Then reaching his hand to 
Consuelo, he assisted her in silence to surmount the scat- 
tered fragments, after which he looked at her with 
attention, sighed deeply, and giving her three keys 
tied together with a red ribbon, pointed out the path 
before her, and repeated, ‘^May he who has been wronged 
salute thee 

‘‘ Will 3^11 not serve me as a guide?’’ said she. Con- 
duct me to your master.” Zdenko shook his head. ‘‘I 
have no master,” said he ; “ 1 had a friend, but you 
deprive me of him. Our destiny is accomplished. Go 
whither God directs you ; as for me, I shall weep here till 
you return.” 

And seating himself upon the ruins, he buried his head 
in his hands, and would not utter another word. Oon- 
syelo did not stop long to console him. She feared the 
return of his fury, and profiting by this momentary re- 
spect, and certain at last of being on the route to the 
Schreckenstein, she hurried forward on her way. In her 
uncertain and perilous journey, ^Consuelo had not made 
much advance ; for Zdenko, who had taken a much longer 
route, but one which was inaccessible to the water, had 
met her at the point of junction of the two subterranean 
passages, which made the circuit of the chateau, its vast 
outbuildings, and the hill on which it stood — one, by a 
well-arranged winding- path, excavated in the rock by the 
hand of man — the other frightful, wild, and full of 
dangers. Consuelo did not in the least imagine that she 
was at that moment under the park, and yet she passed its 


26G 


CONSUELO, 


gates and moat by a path which all the keys and all the 
precautions of the canoness could no longer close against 
her. 

After having proceeded some distance on this new route, 
•she almost resolved to turn back and renounce an enter- 
prise which had already proved so difficult and almost 
fatal to her. Perhaps fresh obstacles awaited her. Zdenko’s 
ill-will might be excited afresh. And if he should pursue 
and overtake her? If he should raise a second wall to pre- 
vent her return? Whereas, on the other hand, by aban- 
doning her project, and asking him to clear the way to the 
cistern and empty it again that she might ascend, she had 
every chance of finding him gentle and benevolent. But 
she was still too much under the influence of her recent 
emotion, to think of once more facing that fantastic be- 
ing. The terror he had caused her increased in proportion 
to the distance which separated them, and after having 
escaped his vengeance by almost miraculous presence of 
mind, she felt herself utterly overcome on thinking of it. 
She therefore continued her flight, having no longer the 
courage to attempt what might be necessary to render him 
favorable, and only wishing to find one of tllbse magic 
doors, the keys of which he had given her, in order to 
place a barrier between herself and the possible return of 
his fury. 

But might she not find Albert — that other madman 
whom she rashly persisted in thinking kind and tractable 
— actuated by feelings toward her similar to those which 
Zdenko hud just manifested? There was a thick veil of 
doubt and uncertainty over all this adventure ; aiijd 
stripped it of the romantic attraction which had served as an 
inducement for her to undertake it. Consuelo asked her- 
self if she was not the most crazy of the three, to have 
precipitated herself into this abyss of dangers and myster- 
ies, witliout being sure of arriving at a favorable result. 

Nevertheless, slie followed the gallery, which was spa- 
cious, and admirably excavated by the atfiletic heroes of' tlie 
middle ages. All the rocks were cut through by an elliptic 
arch of much character and regularity. The less compact 
portions, the chalky veins of tlie soil, and all those places 
where there was any danger of the roof falling in, were 
supported by finely worked arches of freestone, bound to- 
gether by s(|uare keystones of granite, Consuelo did not 


C0N8UEL0. 


267 


stop to admire this immense work, executed with a solidity 
which promised to defy the lapse of many ages ; neither 
did she ask herself how the present owners of the chateau 
could be ignorant of the existence of so important a con- 
struction. 

She might have explained it by remembering, that all 
the historical documents of the family and estate had 
been destroyed more than a century before, at the epoch 
of the Reformation in Bohemia; but she no longer looked 
around her, and hardly bestowed a thought upon any 
thing except her own safety, satisfied with simply finding 
a level floor, an air which she could breathe, and a free 
space in which to move. She had still a long distance to 
traverse, although the direct route to the Schreckenstein 
was much shorter than the winding path through the 
mountain. She found the way very tedious, and no longer 
able to determine in what direction she was proceeding, she 
knew not if it led to the Schreckenstein, or to some more 
distant termination. 

After walking for about a quarter of an hour, she found 
the vault gradually increase in height, and the work of the 
architect cease entirely. Nevertheless these vast quarries, 
and these majestic grottoes through which she passed, 
were still the work of man; but trenched upon by vegeta- 
tion, and receiving the external air through numberless 
fissures, they had a less gloomy aspect than the galleries,, 
and contained a thousand hiding-places and means of 
escape from the pursuit of an irritated adversary. But a 
noise of running water, which was now heard, made Con- 
suelo shudder; and if she had been able to jest in such a 
situation, she might have confessed to herself that Baron 
Frederick on his return from the chase had' never expressed 
a greater horror of water than she experienced at that 
instant. 

But reflection soon reassured her. Ever since she had 
left the precipice where she had been so nearly over- 
whelmed -with the rush of water, she had continued to 
ascend, and unless Zdenko had at his command a hydraulic 
machine of inconceivable power and extent, he could not 
raise to that height his terrible auxiliary, the torrent. 
Besides, it was evident that she must somewhere encounter 
the current of the fountain, the sluice, or the spring it- 
self, and if she had reflected furthor, she would have been 


268 


CONSUELO. 


astonished that she had not yet found in her path this 
mysterious source, this Fountain of Tears which supplied 
the cistern. The fact was, that the spring pursued its way 
through unknown regions of the mountain, and that the 
gallery, cutting it at right angles, did not encounter it 
except just near the cistern, and afterward under the 
Schreckenstein, as happened to Oonsuelo. The sluice- 
gate was far behind her, on the path which Zdenko had 
passed alone, and Consuelo approached the spring, which 
for ages had been seen by no one except Albert and 
Zdenko. In a short time she met with the current, and 
this time she walked along its bank without fear and with- 
out danger. 

A path of smooth fresh sand bordered the course of the 
limpid and transparent stream, which ran with a pleasant 
murmur between carefully formed banks. There the 
handiwork of man once more reappeared. The path 
sloped down to the margin of the rivulet, and wound its 
way through beautiful aquatic plants, enormous wall- 
flowers, and wild brambles, which flourished in this 
sheltered place without injury fi’om the rigor of the season. 
Enough of the external air penetrated through cracks 
and crevices to support the vegetation, but these crevices 
were too narrow to afford passage to the curious eye wliich. 
sought to pry into them from without. It was like a na- 
tural hot-house, preserved by its vaults from cold and 
snow, but sufficiently aired by a tliousand imperceptible 
breathing-holes. It seemed as if some careful and dis- 
criminating hand had protected the lives of those beautiful 
plants, and freed the sand which the torrent threw upon 
its banks of any stones that could have hurt the feet, and 
this supposition would have been correct. It was Zdenko 
who had made the neighborhood of Albert's retreat so 
lovely, pleasant and secure. 

Consuelo already began to feel the grateful influence 
which the less gloomy and poetic aspect of external ob- 
jects produced upon her imagination. When she saw the 
pale mys of the moon glance here and tlnfl-e through the 
openings of the rocks, and reflect themselves upon the 
moving water; when she saw the motionless plants, which 
the water did not reach, agitated at intervals by the wind 
of the forest ; when she perceived herself ascending nearer 
and nearer to the surface of the earth, she felt her strength 


G0N8UEL0, 


269 


renovated, and the reception which awaited her at the end 
of lier heroic pilgrimage was depicted to her mind in less 
somber colors. At last she saw the path turn abruptly 
from the margin of the stream, enter a short gallery newly 
built, and terminate at a little door, which seemed of metal, 
it was so cold, and which was encircled, and as it were 
framed, by an enormous ground-ivy. 

When she saw herself at the end of all her fatigues and 
uncertainty — when she rested her weary hand upon this 
last obstacle, which would yield to her touch in a moment 
(for she held the key of the door in her other hand) — Ooii- 
suelo hesitated, and felt a timidity take possession of her, 
which was more difficult to conquer than all her terrors. 
She was about to penetrate alone into a place closed to every 
eye, to every human thought, and there to surprise, in 
sleep or reverie, a man whom she hardly knew; who was 
neither her father, nor her brother, nor her husband ; who 
perhaps loved her, but whom she neither could love nor 
wished to love. ‘‘God has conducted me here,/’ thought 
slie, “ through the most frightful dangers. It is by his 
will and by his protection that I have reached this spot. 
1 come with a fervent mind, a resolution full of charity, a 
tranquil heart, a disinterestedness proof against every as- 
sault. Perhaps death awaits me, and yet the thought does 
not terrify me. My life is desolate, and I could lose it 
\Vithout much regret; I felt this an instant since, and for 
the last hour 1 have seen myself doomed to a frightful 
death, with a tranquillity for which I was not prepared. 
This is, perhaps, a favor which God sends to me in my last 
moments. Perhaps I am about to perish under the blows 
of a madman, and I advance to meet this catastrophe with 
the firmness of a martyr. I believe with ardent faith in 
an eternal life, and feel that if I perish here, victim to a 
friendship, perhaps useless, but at least conscientious, I 
shall be recompensed in a happier life. What delays me ? 
and why do I experience an inexplicable dread, as if I were 
about to commit a fault, and to have to blush before him 
I have<;ome to save?” Thus did Oonsuelo, too modest to 
understand her modesty, struggle with her feelings, and 
almost reproach herself for the delicacy of her scruples. 
Nevertheless she put the key into the lock of the door; but 
she tried to turn it ten times before she could resolve to do 
so. A sensation of overpowering lassitude took possession 


m 


C0N8UEL0. 


of lior frame, and threatened to incapacitate her from pro- 
ceeding with her enterprise, at the very moment when suc- 
cess seemed to crown her etforts. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

However, she made up her mind. She had three keys, 
and she therefore must pass through three doors and two. 
apartments, before reaching that in wliich she supposed 
Albert to be a prisoner. She would thus have sufficient 
time to stop, if her strength failed her. 

She entered a vaulted hall, which had no other furniture 
than a bed of dried fern on which was throwni a sheep-skin 
as coverlet. A pair of ancient-looking sandals, very much 
worn, served as an indication by which she recognized it as 
Zdenko's chamber. She recognized also the little basket 
which she had carried filled with. fruit to the Stone of 
Terror, and which after two days had disappeared. She 
resolved upon opening the second door, after having care- 
fully closed the first, for she still thought with terror of 
the possible return of the wayward owner of this dwelling. 
The second apartment which she entered was vaulted like 
the first, but the walls were protected by mats and trellises 
covered with moss. A stove diffused a pleasant heat 
through it, and it was doubtless its funnel opening in the 
rock, which produced the fleeting light seen by Consuelo 
on the summit of the Schreckenstein. Albert’s bed, like 
Zdenko’s, was formed of a heap of leaves and dried herbs; 
but Zdenko had covered it with magnificent bear-skins, in 
spite of the absolute equality which Albert exacted in all 
their habits, and which Zdenko observed in every thing 
that did not interfere with the passionate tenderness 
he felt for him, and with the care which he bestowed 
upon him in preference to himself. Consuelo on en- 
tering this chamber was received by Cynabre, who hear- 
ing the key turn in the lock, had posted himself upon 
the threshold, with raised ear and anxious eye. But 
Cynabre had received a peculiar education from his 
master; he was a friend, and not a guardian. When young 
he liad been so strictly forbidden to howl and to bark, that he 
had entirely lost the habit so natural to all animals of his 


CONStTKLO, 


271 


Species. If any one had approached Albert with evil in- 
tentions, he would have found his voice ; if any one had 
attacked him he would have defended him. But prudent 
and circumspect as a hermit, he never made tlie slight- 
est noise without being sure of what he was about, and 
without having carefully examined and smelled these who 
approached him. He walked up therefore to Con- 
suelo with a look that had something almost human in it ; 
smelled her dress, and especially her hand, which had 
held for a long time the keys touched by Zdenko ; and 
completely reassured by this circumstance, he abandoned 
himself to the grateful recollection he had retained of her, 
and placed his great velvet paws upon her shoulders with 
silent joy, while he slowly swept the earth with his long 
and feathery tail. After this grave but sincere welcome, 
he returned to his bed on the corner of the skin which 
covered his master’s couch, and stretched himself upon it 
with the apparent weariness of old age, although he still 
followed with his eyes Consuelo’s every step and movement. 

Before venturing to approach the third door, Consuelo 
cast a glance around this hermitage, in order to gather 
from it some indication of the moral condition of him who 
occupied it. She found no trace of madness or despair. 
An extreme neatness and order prevailed throughout. A 
cloak and other garments were hanging from the horns of 
the urns, a curiosity which Albert had brought from the 
forests of Lithuania, and which served for clothes-pegs. 
His numerous books were regularly arranged in a book- 
case of rough boards, supported by great branches admir- 
ably fashioned by a rude but ingenious hand. The table 
and the two chairs were of the same workmanship. A 
hortus siccus and some old books of music, entirely un- 
known to Consuelo, with titles and words in the Slavonic 
language, served to reveal more completely the peaceful, 
simple, and studious habits of the anchorite. An iron 
lamp, curious from its antiquity, was suspended from the 
middle of the vault, and burned in the eternal night of 
this melancholy sanctuary. 

Consuelo remarked that there were no fire-arms in the 
place. Notwithstanding the taste of the wealthy inhabi- 
tants of those forests for the chase and for the objects of 
luxury which accompany its enjoyment, Albert had no 
gun> not even a hunting-knife, and his old dog had never 


m 


GONSUELO, 


learned the grande science.; for which reason Cynabre was 
an object of Baron Frederick's contempt and pity. Al- 
bert had a horror of blood ; and though he appeared to 
enjoy life less than any one, he had a religious and bound- 
less respect for the idea of life in general. He could 
neither himself kill, nor see killed, even the lowest animals 
of creation. He would have delighted in all the natural 
sciences, but he contented himself with mineralogy and 
botany. Even entomology seemed to him too cruel a 
science, and .he never could have sacrificed the life of an 
insect to gratify his curiosity. Consuelo knew these par- 
ticulars, and she now remembered them on seeing the evi- 
dences of Albert’s peaceful occupations. ‘‘No, I will not 
be afraid,” said sue to herself, “ of so gentle and peaceful 
a being. This is the cell of a saint and not the dungeon 
of a madman.” But the more she was reassured as to the 
nature of his mental malady, the more did she feel troubled 
and confused. She almost regretted that she was not to 
find a deranged or dying man ; and .the certainty of pre- 
senting herself before a real man made her hesitate more 
and more. 

Not knowing how to announce herself, she sunk into a 
reverie which had lasted some minutes when the sound of 
an admirable instrument struck her ear ; it was a violin of 
Stradivarius, givifig birth to a solemn and sublime strain, 
under a chaste and skillful hand. Never had Consuelo 
heard so perfect a violin, so touching and at the same 
time so simple a performance. The air was unknown to 
her; but from its strange and simple forms, she judged it 
to be more ancient than any ancient music she was 
acquainted with. Slie listened with rapture, and now 
comprehended how Albert could have so well appreciated . 
her from the first phrase he heard her sing. It was because 
he had the revelation of the true, the grand music. He 
might not be acquainted possibly with all the wonderful 
resources of the art ; but he had within him the divine 
afflatus, the intelligence, and the love of the beautiful. 
AVlien he had fiuished, Consuelo, entirely reassured, and 
animated by a more lively sympathy, was about to venture 
to knock at the door which still separated her from him, 
wlien it opened slowly, and she saw the young count 
advance, his head bowed down, his eyes fixed upon the 
earth, and his violin and bow hanging loosely in his nerve- 


G0N8UEL0. 


273 


less hands. His paleness was frightful, and his hair and 
dress in a disorder which Consuelo had not before wit- 
nessed. His absent air, his broken and dejected attitude, 
and the despairing apathy of his movements, announced, 
if not entire alienation, at least the disorder and abandon- 
ment, of human reason. He seemed one of those mute 
and oblivious specters, in which the Slavonian people believt^, 
who enter mechanically into the houses at night, and aro 
seen to act without connection and without aim, obeying as if 
by instinct the former habits of their lives, without recogniz- 
ing and without seeing their friends and terrified servants, 
who fly from or look at them in silence, frozen with 
astonishment and fear. Such was Consuelo on meeting 
Count Albert, and perceiving that he did not see her, 
although he was not two paces distant. Cynabre had 
risen and licked his master’s hand. Albert said some 
friendly words to him in Bohemian ; then following with 
his eyes the movements of the dog, who carried his discreet 
caresses. to Consuelo, he gazed attentively at the feet of 
the young girl, which were shod at this moment much like 
those of Zdenko, and without raising his head, spoke in 
Bohemian some words which she did not understand, but 
which seemed a question, and ended with her name. On 
seeing him in this state, Consuelo felt her timidity disap- 
pear. Yielding entirely to her compassion, she saw only 
the unfortunate man with his bleeding heart, who still in- 
voked without recognizing her, and placing her hand 
upon the young man’s arm confidently and firmly, she said 
to him in Spanish, with her pure and penetrating voice, 
Consuelo is here!” 


CHAPTEE XLIV. 

Hardly had Consuelo uttered her name, when Count 
Albert, raising his eyes and looking in her face, immedi- 
ately changed his attitude and expression. He let his 
violin fall to the ground with as much indilference as if he 
had never known its use, and clasping his hands with an 
air of profound tenderness and respectful sadness, It is 
thou then whom I see at last in this place of exile and 
suffering, 0 my poor Wanda?” cried he, uttering a sigh 


274 


GONSUELO. 


which seemed to rend his breast. Dear — dear — and un- 

happy sister! Unfortunate victim, whom I avenged too 
late, and whom I knew not how to defend! Ah! thou 
knowest that the villain who outraged thee, perished in 
torments, and that my pitiless hand was batiied in the 
blood of his accomplices. I opened the deep veins of the 
accursed church. I washed thy dishonor and my own Jind 
that of my people, in rivers of blood. What more dost 
thou desire, 0 restless and revengeful spirit? The times 
of zeal and anger have passed away; we live now in the 
days of repentance and of expiation. Ask from me tears 
and prayers — ask no more for blood. I have henceforth a 
horror for blood, and will shed no more. ISTo, no, not a 
single drop! John Ziska will henceforth till his chalice 
only with inexhaustible tears and bitter sobs!^^ 

While speaking thus with wandering eyes and features 
animated by a sudden phrenzy, Albert moved around Oon- 
suelo, and recoiled with a kind of horror each time she 
made a movement to interrupt this strange adjuration. 
Consuelo did not require much rejection to understand 
the turn wliich her host’s insanity had taken. She had 
heard the history of John Ziska related often enough to 
know trhat a sister of that formidable fanatic, who had been 
a nun before the breaking out of the war of the Hussites, 
had died of sorrow and shame in her convent, from a 
forced breach of her vows; and that the life of Ziska had 
been oJie long and solemn vengeance of that crime. At 
tliat moment, Albert, recalled by some association of ideas 
to his ruling fancy, believed himself John Ziska, and 
addressed her as the shade of Wanda, his unfortunate 
sister. 

Slie resolved not to contradict his illusion too abruptly. 

‘"Albert,” said she, “for your name is no longer John, 
as mine is no longer Wanda, look at me well, and see that 
[, as well as you, am changed in features and character. 
Wliat you have just said, I came to recall to your mind. 
Iluman justice is more than satisfied, and it is the day of 
divine justice which I now announce to you. Cfod com- 
rnands us to forgive and to forget. These fatal recollec- 
tions, this pertinacity of yours in exercising a facultv 
which he has not given to other men, this scrupulous and 
gloomy remembrance whicli you retain of your anterior 
existences, God is olf ended at, and withdraws from you, 


G0N8UEL0, 


275 


because you have abused them. Do you hear me, Albert, 
and do you understa-nd me iiow?^^ 

"'0 my mother!"' replied Albert, pale and trembling, 
falling on his knees and looking at Consuelo with an extra- 
ordinary expression of terror, .“I do hear thee, and under- 
stand thy words. I see that thou transformest thyself, to 
convince and subdue me. No, thou art no longer Wanda 
of Ziska, the violated virgin, the weeping nun. Thou ai’t 
Wanda of Prachalitz, whom men call Countess of Eudol- 
stadt, and who bore in thy bosom the wretched being they 
now call Albert." 

“ It is not by the caprice of men that you are so called," 
returned Consuelo, with firmness; ‘‘for it is God who has 
caused you to live again under other conditions and with new 
duties. Those duties, Albert, you either do n6t know or 
you despise them, i^ou travel back the course of ages with 
an impious pride; you aspire to penetrate the secrets of 
destiny; you think to equal yourself with God, by embrac- 
ing in your view the present and the past. It is I who tell 
you this, and it is truth, it is faith which inspires me; this 
always looking backward is rash and criminal. This 
supernatural memory which you attribute to yourself is an 
illusion. You have taken some vague and feeble glimmer- 
ings for certainty, and your imagination has deceived you. 
Your pride has built up an empty and unsubstantial edi- 
fice, wheri you assign to yourself the most important parts 
in the history of your ancestors. Beware lest you are not 
what you suppose. Fear lest, to punish yon, eternal 
wisdom should open your eyes for an instant, and cause 
you to perceive in your former life, less illustrious faults 
and less glorious objects of remorse, than those on which 
you dare to pride yourself." 

Albert heard this discourse with timid attention, his face 
hidden in his hands, and his knees buried in the earth. 

“Sp'eak! speak! 0 voice of Heaven! which I hear, but 
which I no longer recognize," murmured he, in stified ac- 
cents. ‘Hf thou art the angel of the mountain — if thou 
art, as I believe, the celestial figui*e which has so often ap- 
peared to me upon the Stone of Terror — speak — command 
my will, my conscience, my imagination. Thou well 
knowest that I seek for the light with anguish, and that if 
I lose myself in the darkness, it is from my desire to dis- 
sipate it in order to reach thee," 


276 


CONSUELO, 


little hnmilitv, a little confidence and submission to 
the eternal decrees of wisdom, which are incomprehensible 
to man— that is the path of truth for you, Albert. Ee- 
nounce from your heart, and renounce firmly, once for all, 
any wish to know any thing beyond this passing existence 
which is imposed upon you; and you will again become 
acceptable to God, useful to man, tranquil in yourself. 
Humble your proud intellect; and without losing faith in 
your immortality, without doubting the divine goodness, 
which pardons the past and watches over the future, apply 
yourself to render humane and full of good fruits, this 
present life which you despise, when you ought to respect 
it and give yourself to it, with all your strength, your self- 
denial, and your charity. Now, Albert, look at me, and 
may your eyes be unsealed. I am no longer your sister 
nor your mother; I am a friend whom Heaven has sent 
to you, and whom it has conducted by miraculous means 
to snatch you from pride and from insanity. Look at me, 
and tell me, on your soul and on your conscience, who I 
am and what is my name.^^ 

Albert, trembling and confused, raised his head and 
looked at her again, but with less wildness and terror than 
before. 

You cause me to leap over abysses,” said he to her; 
“by your deep and searching words you confound rny 
reason, which (for my misfortune) I thought superior to 
that of other men, and you order me to know and under- 
stand the present time and human affairs. I cannot. 
To lose the remembrance of certain phases of my life, I 
must pass through a terrible crisis ; and to seize the sense 
of a new phase, I must transform myself by efforts which 
lead me to the gates of death. If you command me, in 
the name of a power which I feel superior to mine, to as- 
simulate my thoughts to yours, I must obey ; but I 
know those horrible struggles, and I know that 
death is their termination. Pity me, you who oper- 
ate upon me by a sovereign charm ; aid me, or I sink. 
Tell me who you are, for I do not know. 1 do not remem- 
ber ever to have seen you before ; I do not know your sex, 
and you are there before me like a mysterious statue, the 
type of which I vainly strive to find in my memory. Help 
me! help me! for I feel that I am dying.” 

While speaking thus, Albert, whose face was at first 


CON8UEL0, 




flushed with a, feverish hriglitness, became again of a 
frightful paleness. He stretched out his hands toward 
ConsueLo; but immediately lowered them to the ground to 
support himself, as if he had been overpowered by an 
irresistible faintness. Oonsuelo, becoming by degrees 
initiated into the secrets of his mental malady, felt herself 
reanimated, and as if inspired by new strength and intel- 
ligence. She took his hands, and obliging him to rise, 
she conducted him toward the chair which was near the 
table. He let himself fall into it, overpowered by unsuf- 
ferable fatigue, and bent forward as if about to faint. 
The struggle of which he spoke was but too real. Albert 
had the faculty of recovering his reason, and repelling the 
suggestions of the fever which consumed his brain; but 
he did not succeed without efforts and sufferings which ex- 
hausted his powers. When this reaction was produced of 
its own accord, he issued from it refreshed, and as it were 
renewed, but when he induced it by aiesolution of his still 
powerful will, his body sank under the effort, and all his 
limbs were affected by catalepsy. Oonsuelo understood 
what was passing within him. “ Albert, said she, placing 
her cold hand upon his head, ‘*1 know you, and that 
suffices. I am interested in you, and that also must be 
sufficient for you at present. . I forbid your making any 
effort of your will to recognize or to speak to me. Only 
listen ; and if my words seem obscure to you, wait till I 
explain myself, and be in no haste to discover their mean- 
ing. I ask of you a passive submission and an entire 
abandonment of your reflective powers. Can you descend 
into your heart, and there concentrate all your exist- 
ence?'’’ 

Oh, how much good you do me!” replied Albert. 

Speak to me again — speak to me always thus. A^ou hold 
my soul in your hands. Whoever you may be, keep it — 
do not let it escape — for it would go and knock at the 
gates of eternity, and would there be broken. Tell me 
who you are — tell me quickly ; and if I do not. compre- 
hend, explain it to me; for, in spite of myself, I seek to 
know and am agitated.” 

am Oonsuelo,” replied the young girl; "^and you 
know it, since you instinctively speak to me in a language 
which I alone, of all those near you, can comprehend. I 
am the friend whom you have expected for a long while. 


278 


C0N8UEL0. 


and whom yon recognized one day as she was singing. 
Since that day yon have left yonr family and hidden your- 
self here. Since that day I have sought for yon ; yon have 
appealed to me several times through Zdenko; but Zdenko, 
who executed your orders in certain respects, was not will- 
ing to conduct me to you. I have succeeded, through a 
thousand dangers 

‘^You could not have succeeded had Zdenko been un- 
willing,"" interrupted Albert, raising his body, which was 
weighed down and resting upon the table. ‘^You are a 
dream, I see it well, and all that I hear is simply passing 
in my imagination. Oh, my God! you lull me with de- 
ceitful joys, and suddenly the disorder and incoherence of 
my dreams are revealed to me, and I find myself alone — 
alone in the world with my despair and my madness! 0 
Consuelo! Consuelo! fatal and delicious .dream! where is 
the being that bears your name, and is sometimes clothed 
with your form? No, yon exist only in me, and it is my 
delirium which has created you."" 

Albert again let his head fall on his extended arras, 
which became cold and rigid as marble. 

Consuelo saw him approach his lethargic crisis, and felt 
herself so exhausted and so ready to faint, that she feared 
she could not avert it. She endeavored to reanimate Al- 
bert"s hands in her own, which were hardly more alive. 
‘^My God,"" said she, with a choking voice, her heart sink- 
ing within her, ‘‘ succor two unfortunate beings who can 
hardly do any thing for each other!"" 

She saw herself alone, shut up with a dying man, dying 
herself, and expecting no help for herself or for him, except 
from Zdenko, whose return seemed to her more to be 
dreaded than desired. 

Her prayer seemed to strike Albert with an unexpected 
emotion. “ Some one is praying by my side,"" said he, 
trying to raise his overburdened head. “I am not alone. 
Oh, no! 1 am not alone,"" added he, looking at Consuelo’s 
hand clasped in his. “ Succoring hand, mysterious pity, 
human, fraternal sympathy! You render my agony very 
gentle, my heart very grateful!"" And he imprinted his 
frozen lips on Consuelo"s hand, and remained thus for a 
long while. 

A feeling of modesty restored to Consuelo the sense of 
life. She did not dare to withdraw her hand from the 


GONSUELO. 


279 


unfortunate young mau; but divided between her embar- 
rassment and her weariness, and no longer able to remain 
standing, she was compelled to rest upon Albert, and to 
place her other band upon bis shoulder. 

“ I feel myself restored,^" said Albert, after a few mo- 
ments. “ It seems to me that I am in my mother^s arms. 
O my aunt Wenceslawa, if it be you who are near me, for- 
give me for having forgotten you — you, and my father, 

I and all my family — whose very names had escaped my 
j memory. I return to you — do not leave me; but restore 
to me Consuelo — Consuelo, whom I had so long expected, 
whom I had at last found, and whom I find no more, and 
without whom I can no longer exist. 

Consuelo endeavored to speak to him; but in proportion 
as Albertis memory and strength seemed restored to him, 
Oonsuelo^s life seemed to desert her.- So much terror and 
fatigue, so many emotions and superhuman efforts, had so 
broken her down, that she could struggle no longer. The 
words expired upon her lips, she felt her limbs bend under 
her, and every object swam before her eyes. She fell upon 
her knees by the side of Albert, and her swooning form 
struck the breast of the young man. 

Immediately Albert, as if awaking from a dream, saw 
her — recognized her — uttered a deep cry, and arousing 
himself, pressed her in his arms with wild energy. 
Through the veil of death which seemed to spread over 
her eyelids, Consuelo saw his joy and was not terrified. 
It was a holy joy radiant' with purity. She closed her 
eyes and fell into a state of utter prostration, which was 
not sleep nor waking, but a kind of indifference and in- 
sensibility to all present things. 


• CIIAPTEE XLV. 

WHEN" Consuelo recovered the use of her faculties, find- 
ing herself seated upon a hard bed, and not yet able to 
raise her eyelids, she endeavoured to collect her thoughts. 
But the prostration had been so complete that her powers 
returned but slowly; and as if the sum of the fatigues and 
emotions which she had latterly experienced had sur- 
passed her strength, she tried in vain to remember what 


280 


C0N8UEL0, 


had happened to her since she left Venice. Even her de- 
parture from that adopted country, where she had passed 
such happy days, appeared to her like a dream; and it was a 
solace (alas, too fleeting!) to her to be able to doubt for 
an instant her exile, and the misfortunes which caused it. 
She therefore imagined that she was still in her poor 
chamber in the Oorte Minelli, on her mother’s pallet, that 
after having had a violent and trying scene with Anzo- 
leto, tlie confused recollection of which floated in her 
memory, she returned to life and hope on feeling him near 
her, on hearing his interrupted breathing, and the tender 
words he addressed to her in a low and murmuring voice. 
A languishing and delicious joy penetrated her heart at 
tliis thought, and she raised herself with some exertion to 
look at her repentant friend, and to stretch out her hand 
to him. But she pressed a cold and unknown hand; and 
in place of the smiling sun, whose rosy brilliancy she 
was accustomed to see through her white cuitain, she 
saw only a sepulchral light, falling from the roof of a 
gloomy vault, and swimming in a humid atmosphere; she 
felt under her arm the rude spoils of savage animals, and 
amid a horrilfle silence the pale face of Albert bent toward 
her like that of a specter. 

Oonsuelo thought she had descended living to the tomb; 
she closed her eyes, and fell back upon the bed of dried 
leaves with a deep groan. It was some minutes before she 
could remember where she was, and to what gloomy host 
she was confided. Terror, which the enthusiasm of her 
devotion had hitherto combated and subdued, seized upon 
her, so that she feared to open her eyes lest she should 
see some horrible spectacle — the paraphernalia of death 
— a sepulcher— open before her. She felt something upon 
her brow, and raised her hand to it. It was a garland of 
leaves with which Albert had crowned her. She took it 
off to look at it, and saw a branch of cypi^ess. 

^‘I believed you dead, 0 my soul, 0 my consolation!^’ 
said Albert, kneeling beside her; and before following 
you to the tomb, I wished to adorn you with the emblems 
of marriage. Flowers do not grow around me, Oonsuelo, 
The black cypress offered the only branches from which 
my hand could pther your coronet of betrothal. There it 
is; do not despise it. If we must die here, let me swear 
to you that, if restored to life, I would never have had any 


CONSUELO. 281 

other spouse than you ; that I die united with you by 
an indissoluble oath.” 

“ Betrothed! united!” cried Consuelo, casting terrified 
glances around her; “ who has pronounced that decree? 
who has celebrated that marriage?” 

“ It is destiny, my angel,” replied Albert, with an inex- 
pressible gentleness and sadness. “Think not to escape 
from it. It is a strange destiny for you, and even more so 
for me. You forbade me a short time since to search into 
the past; you prohibited to me the remembrance of those 
bygone days which are called the night of ages. My being 
has obeyed you, and henceforth I know nothing of my 
anterior life. But my present life, I have questioned it, I 
know it. I have seen it entire with one glance; it ap- 
peared to me during the instant in which you reposed in 
the arms of death. Your destiny, Consuelo, is to belong 
t6 me, and yet you will never be mine. You do not love 
me, you never will love me as I love you. Your love for 
me is only charity, your devotion only heroism. You are a 
saint whom God sends, but you will never be a woman to 
me. I must die, consumed by a love you cannot partake; 
and yet, Consuelo, you will be my wife as you are now my 
betrothed, whether we perish now, and your, pity consents 
to give me that title of husband, which no kiss will ever 
confirm, or whether we again see the sun, and your con- 
science commands you to accomplish the designs of God 
toward me.” 

“ Count Albert,” said Consuelo, endeavoring to rise 
from her bed covered with bear-skins, which resembled a 
funereal couch, “I know not if it be the enthusiasm of 
a heated imagination, or the continuance of your delirium, 
which make you speak thus. I have no longer the strength 
to dispel your illusions; and if they must turn against me 
— against me, who have come at the peril of my life to 
succor and console you — I feel that I can no longer con- 
tend with you for my life or my liberty. If the sight of 
me irritates you, and if God abandons me, may His will be 
done! You, who think you know so many things, do not 
know how my life has been poisoned, and with how little 
regret I should sacrifice it.” 

“ I know that you are very unhappy, my poor saint. I 
know that you wear on your brow a crown of thorns, which 
I cannot tear away. The cause and the consequences of 


282 


C0N8VEL0. 


your misfortunes I do not know, neither do I ask you for 
them. But I should love you very little, I should he little 
worthy of your compassion, if from the day when I first 
met you 1 had not felt and recognized in you the sorrow 
which fills your soul and embitters your life. What can 
you fear from me, Oonsuelo ? — from my soul ? You, so 
firm and so wise, whom God has inspired with words which 
subdued and restored me in an instant, you must feel the 
light of your faith and your reason strangely weak- 
ened, since you fear your friend, your servant, your slave. 
Eouse yourself, my angel ; look at me. See me here at 
your feet, and forever, my forehead in the dust. What do 
you wish — what do you command ? Do you wish to leave 
this place on the instant, without my following you, with- 
out my ever appearing before you again ? What sacrifice 
do you exact? What oath do you wish me to take? I can 
promise you every thing, and obey you in every thing. 
Oonsuelo, I can even become a tranquil man, submissive, 
and in appearance as reasonable as other men. Should I 
thus be less repulsive, less terrifying to you ? Hitherto I 
have never been able to do as I wished, but hereafter every 
thing you desire will be granted me. Perhaps I may die 
in transforming myself according to your will ; but I tell 
you in my turn that my life has ever been embittered, and 
that I should not regret losing it for you.” 

Dear, generous Albert!” said Oonsuelo, reassured and 
greatly affected, explain yourself more clearly, and let 
me at last understand the depths of your impenetrable 
soul. You are in my eyes superior to all other men; and 
from the first moment that I saw you, I felt for yon a re- 
spect and a sympathy which I have no cause to conceal. I 
have always heard it said that you were insane, but I have 
not been able to believe it. All that has been related to 
me of you only added to my esteem and to my confidence. 
Still I could not help seeing that you were overpowered by 
a deep and strange mental disease. I persuaded myself, 
presumptuously perhaps, but sincerely, that I could re- 
lieve your malady. You yourself have aided in making 
me think so. I have come to seek you, and now you tell 
me things respecting myself and you which would fill me 
with a boundless veneration, if you did not mix up with 
them strange ideas drawn from a spirit of fatalism which I 
cannot share. Can I say all without wounding you and 
making you suffer?” 


CONSUELO. 

Say all, Consuelo; I know beforehand what yon have 
to say/^ 

Well, I will say it, for I had so promised myself. All 
those who love you despair of you. They think they must 
respect, that is to say, spare, what they call your insanity; 
they fear to exasperate you hy letting you see that they 
know it, lament it, and fear it. For myself, I cannot be- 
lieve them, and cannot tremble in asking you why, being 
so wise, you have sometimes the appearance of an insane 
person; why, being so good, you perform deeds of ingrati- 
tude and pride; why, being so enlightened and religious, 
you abandon yourself to the reveries of a diseased and de- 
spairing mind; and lastly, why you are here alone, buried 
alive in a gloomy cavern — far from your family, who weep 
and search for you — far from your fellow-men, whom you 
cherish with an ardent zeal — far from me, too, whom you 
invoked, whom you say you love, and who has been able to 
reach you only by miracles of resolution and the divine 
protection?’^ 

You ask of me the secret of my life, the solution of 
my destiny, and yet you know it better than I do, Consuelo. 
It is from you I expected the revelation of my being, and 
you question me! Oh! I luiderstand you; you wish to lead 
me to a confession, to an efficacious repentjince, to a victo- 
rious resolution. You shall be obeyed. But it is not at 
this instant that I can know, and judge, and transform 
myself in this manner. Give me some days, some hours 
at least, to learn for myself and for you if I am mad, or if 
I enjoy the use of my reason. Alas! alas! both are true, 
and it is my misery not to be able to doubt it ; but, to 
know if I must lose my judgment and my will entirely, or 
if I shall be able to triumph over the demon who besieges 
me, that is what I cannot do at this instant. Have pity 
upon me, Consuelo; I am still under the influence of an 
emotion more imwerful than myself. I know not what I have 
said to you; I know not how many hours you have been 
here; I know not how you could be here without Zdenko, 
who did not wish to bring you ; I know not even in what 
region my thoughts were wandering when you first appeared 
tome. Alas! 1 know not how many ages I have been 
shut up here, struggling with unheard-of sufferings against 
the scourge which destroys me. Even these sufferings I re- 
member ]io longer when they have passed; there remains 


m 


CONSUBLO. 


in their place only a terrible fatigue, a sort of stupor, a 
terror which I long to banish. Let me forget myself, Con- 
suelo, if it be only for a few moments ; my ideas will be- 
come clearer, my tongue will be loosened. I promise, I 
swear it to you. Let the light of truth beam softly and 
by degrees on my eyes, long shrouded in fearful darkness 
and unable to endure the full strength of its rays. You 
have ordered me to concentrate all my life in my heart. 
Yes; those were your words; my reason and my memory 
date no further back than from the moment you spoke 
them. Well! these words have diffused an angelic calm 
over my spirit. My heart lives now once more, though 
my spirit still sleeps. I fear to speak to you of myself ; I 
might wander, and again terrify you by my ravings. I 
wish to live only in feeling, and it is an unknown life to 
me; it would be a life or delight if I could abandon my- 
self to it without displeasing you. Ah, Consuelo I why 
did you tell me to concentrate all my life in 
my heart? Explain your meaning; let me think only of 
you, see and comprehend only you — in a word, love you. 
0 my God, I love — I love a living being I — a being like 
myself I I love her with all the strength of my heart and 
soul! I can concentrate upon her all the ardor, all the 
holiness of my affections. It is happiness enough for me 
to be allowed this, and I have not the madness to ask for 
more.” 

Well, dear Albert, let your wearied soul repose in this 
sweet sentiment of a peaceful and brotherly tenderness. 
God is my witness that you can do so without fear and 
without danger; for I feel a strong and sincere friendship 
for you — a kind of veneration which the frivolous obser- 
vations and vain judgments of the world cannot shake. 
You have become aware, by a sort of divine and mysteri- 
ous intuition, that my whole life is broken by sorrovv; you 
said so, and it was divine truth which prompted your 
words. I cannot love you otherwise than as a brother; 
but do not say that it is charity, pity alone, which influ- 
ences me. If humanity and compassion have given me 
courage to come here, sympathy and a heartfelt esteem for 
your virtues gave me also the courage and the right to 
speak to you as I do. Banish, therefore, from this mo- 
ment and forever, the illusion under which you labor re- 
specting your own feelings. Do not speak of love, do not 


CONSUELO. 


285 

speak of marriage. My past life, my recollections, make 
the first irnpossiole; the difference in onr conditions would 
render the second humiliating and insupportable to me. 
By indulging in such dreams you will render my devotion 
to you rash, perhaps culpable. Let us seal by a sacred 
promise the engagement which I make, to be your sister, 
your friend, your consoler, whenever you are . disposed to 
open your heart to me; your nurse, when suffering renders 
you gloomy and taciturn. Swear that you will not look on 
me in any other light, and that you will never love me 
otherwise.^’ 

‘‘Generous woman!” said Albert, turning pale, “you 
reckon largely on my courage, and you know well the 
extent of my love, in asking of me such a })roniise. I 
should be capable of lying for the first time in my life — I 
could even debjise myself so far as to pronounce a false 
oath — if you required it of me. But you will not require 
it of me, Consuelo; you know that this would be to intro- 
duce a new source of agitation into my life, and into my 
conscience a remorse which has not yet stained it. Do 
not be uneasy at the manner in which I love you. First 
of all I am ignorant of it; I only know that to(Uprive this 
affection of the name of love would be to utter a blas- 
phemy. I submit myself to all the -rest; I accept your 
pity, your care, your goodness, your peaceful friendship; 
I will speak to you only as you permit; I will not say a 
single word which could trouble you, nor give you a single 
look which could make you veil your eyes; I will not 
even touch your dress, if you fear being sullied by my 
breath. But you would be wrong to treat me with such 
mistrust, and you would do better to encourage in me 
those gentle emotions which restore us to life, and from 
which you can fear nothing. I can well understand that 
your modesty might be alarmed at the expression of a love 
which you do not share; I know that your pride would re- 
ject the marks of a passion which you do not wish either 
to excite or to encourage. Therefore be calm, and swear 
without fear to be my sister and my consoler, as I swear 
to be your brother and servant. Do not ask of me more; 
I will neither be indiscreet nor importunate. It is suffi- 
cient for me that you know you can command me and gov- 
ern me despotically — not as you would govern a brother, 
but as you would dispose of a being who has given himself 
to you entirely and forever,” 


286 


GONSUELO. 


CHAPTER XLVL 

This language reassured Consuelo for the present, but 
did not leave her without apprehension for the future. 
That Albert’s fanatical self-denial had its source in a deep 
and unconquerable passion, the serious nature of his char- 
acter and the solemnity of his countenance could leave 
no doubt. Consuelo, perplexed, though at the same time 
moved with compassion, asked herself if she could con- 
tinue to consecrate her cares to this man, so unreservedly 
and unchangeably in love with her. She had never treated 
this sort of relation lightly in her thoughts, and she saw' 
that with Albert no woman could enter upon it without 
serious consequences. She did not doubt his devot- 
edness ; but the calmness which she had flattered 
herself she should restore to him must be irreconcilable 
with the existence of so ardent a love and the impossibility 
she felt of responding to it. She held out her hand to 
him with a sigh, and remained pensive, with her eyes 
fixed on the ground, and plunged in a melancholy reverie. 

‘‘Albert,” said she at last, raising her eyes, and finding 
his anxiously fixed upon her with an expression of anguish 
and sorrow, “ you do not know me, when you wish to im- 
pose upon me a character for wdiich I am so ill fitted. 
None but a woman who would abuse it could accept it. I 
am neither proud nor a coquette; I think I am not vain, 
and I have no passion for sway. Your love would flatter 
me, if I could share it; and if it were so, I would tell you 
instantly. To afflict you in the situation in which I find 
you, by the reiterated assurance of the contrary, would be 
an act of cold-blooded cruelty which you ought to have 
spared me, and which is nevertheless imposed upon me by 
my conscience, though my heart detests it, and is deeply 
grieved in accomplishing it. Pity me for being obliged to 
afflict you, to olfend you perhaps, at a moment when 
I would willingly give my life to restore you to happiness 
and health.” 

“I know it, high souled maiden,” said Albert, with a 
melancholy smile. “You are so good, so great, that you 
would give your life for the meanest creature; but I know 
that your conscience will bend to no one. Do not then 
fear to oJQtend me in displaying this sternness which I 


G0N8UEL0, 


m 


admire — this stoical coldness, which your virtue maintains 
along with the most moving pity. It is not in your power 
to afflict me, Oonsuelo. I am not the sport of illusion; I 
am accustomed to bitter grief; my life has been made up of 
painful sacrifices. Do not then treat me as a visionary, as 
a being witliout heart and without self-respect, in repeat- 
ing what I already know, that you will never love me. 
Oonsuelo, I am acquainted with the circumstances of your 
life, although I know neither your name, nor family, nor 
any important fact concerning you. I know the history of 
your soul; the rest does not concern me. You loved, you 
still love, and you will always love, one of whom I know 
nothing, whom I do not wish to know, and with whom I 
shall never compete. But know, Oonsuelo, that you shall 
never be his, or mine, or even your own. God has reserved 
for you a separate existence, of which the events are 
hidden from me, but of which I foresee the object and end. 
The slave and victim of your own greatness of soul, you 
will never receive in this life other recompense than the 
consciousness of your own power and goodness. Unhappy 
in the world^s estimation, you will yet be the most serene 
and the most fortunate of human creatures, because you 
will ever be the best and the most upright; for the wicked 
and the base, dearest sister, are alone to be pitied, and the 
words of Christ will remain true as long as men continue 
blind and uujust: ‘ Happy are those who are persecuted; 
happy those who weep, and who labor in trouble.^ 

The power and dignity which were at this moment 
stamped upon the lofty and majestic forehead of Albert, 
exercised over Oonsuelo so great a fascination that she for- 
got the part of proud sovereign and austere friend, which 
she had imposed upon herself, to bow to the spell of this 
man^s influence, so inspired by faith and enthusiasm. She 
su2)ported herself with difficulty, still overwhelmed with 
fatigue and emotion, and trembling from excess of weari- 
ness, she sank on her knees, and, clasping her hands, 
began to pray fervently and aloud. “If Thou, my God,” 
she exclaimed, “dost jjut this prophecy in the mouth of a 
saint. Thy holy will be done! In my infancy I besought 
from Thee an innocent and childlike happiness; but Thou 
hast reserved for me happiness under a severe and rude 
form, which I am unable to comprehend. Open Thou 
mine eyes — grant me an humble and contrite heart. I am 


288 


CONSUELO. 


willing, 0 my God! to submit to this destiny, which seems 
so adverse, and which so slowly revealed itself, and only 
ask from Thee that which any of Thy creatures is entitled 
to expect from Thy loving justice — faith, hope, and 
charity!’’ 

While praying thus, Consuelo was bathed in tears, which 
she did not seek to restrain. After such feverish agitation, 
this paroxysm served to calm her troubled feelings, while 
it weakened her yet more. Albert prayed and wept along 
with lier, blessing the tears which he had so long shed in 
solitude, and which now mingled with those of a pure and 
generous being. 

^^And now,” said Consuelo, rising, we have thought 
long enough of what concerns ourselves; it is time to think 
of others, and to recollect our duties to them. I have 
promised to restore you to your family, who already mourn 
and pray for you as for one dead. Do you not desire, my 
dear Albert, to restore joy and peace to your afflicted rela- 
tives? Will you not follow me?” 

'^So soon!” exclaimed the young count in despair; 

separate so soon, and leave this sacred asylum, where 
God alone is with us — this cell, which I cherish still more 
since you have appeared to me in it — this sanctuary of a 
happiness which I shall perhaps never again experience — 
to return to the false and cold world of prejudices and cus- 
toms. Ah! not yet, my soul, my life! Sulfer me to enjoy 
yet a day, yet an age of delight. Let me here forget that 
there exists a world full of deceit and sorrow, which pur- 
sues me like a dark and troubled dream ; permit me to 
return by slow degrees to what men call reason. I do not 
yet feel strong enough to bear the light of their sun and 
the spectacle of their madness. I require to gaze upon 
your face and listen to your voice yet longer. Besides, I 
have never left my retreat from a sudden impulse, or with- 
out long reflection — my endeared yet frightful retreat, this 
terrific yet salutary place of expiation, whither I am 
accustomed to hasten as with a wild joy, without once 
looking back, and which I leave with doubts but two well 
founded, and with lasting regret. You know not, Con- 
suelo, what powerful ties attach me to this voluntary 
prison— you know not that there is here a second self, the 
true Albert, who will not leave it — a self which I ever find 
when I return, and yet which besets me like a specter 


aONSUELO. 


289 


when I leave it. Here I have conscience, faith, light, 
strength — in a word, life. In the world there are fear, 
madness, despair — passions which sometimes invade my 
peaceful seclusion, and engage with me in a deadly strug- 
gle. But, behold! behind this door there is an asylum 
where I can subdue them and become myself again. I 
enter sullied with their contact ; and giddy from their 
presence — I issue purified, and no one knows what tortures 
purchase this patience and submission. Force me not 
hence, Consuelo, but suffer me gradually and by prayer to 
wean my attachment from the place. 

*^Let us then enter and pray together,*’ said Consuelo ; 

we shall set out immediately afterward. Time flies ; 
the dawn is perhaps already near. They must remain 
ignorant of the path which leads to the castle, they must 
not see us enter together ; for I am anxious not to betray 
the secret of your retreat, and hitherto no one suspects my 
discovery. I do not wish to be questioned, or to resort to 
falsehoods. I must be able to keep a respectful silence 
before your relatives, and suffer them to believe that my 
promises were but presentiments and dreams. Should I 
be seen to return with you, my absence would seem dis- 
obedience ; and although, Albert, I would brave every 
thing for you, I would not rashly alienate the confidence 
and affection of your family. Let us hasten then ; I am 
exhausted with fatigue, and if I remain here much longer 
I shall lose all my remaining strength, so necessary for 
this new journey. We shall pray, and then depart.” 

Exhausted, say you? Repose here then, beloved one. 
I will guard you religiously, or if my presence disturb yon, 
you shall shut me up in the adjacent grotto ; close this 
iron door between us, and while, sunk in slumber, you for- 
get me, I shall, until recalled by you, pray for you in my 
church.’’ 

‘^But reflect that while you are praying and sunk in re- 
pose, your father suffers long hours of agony, pale and 
motionless as I once saw him, bowed down with age and 
grief, pressing with feeble knees the floor of his oratory, 
and apparently only awaiting the news of your death to 
resign his last breath. And your poor aunt’s anxiety will 
throw her into a fever, incessantly ascending, as she does, 
the highest towers of the castle, vainly endeavoring to 
trace the paths to the mountain, by one of whicli it is sup- 


290 


C0N8UBL0. 


posed you departed. This very morning tlie members of 
your family, when they assemble together in the chateau, 
will sorrowfully accost each other with fruitless inquiries 
and conjectures, and again separate at night with despair 
and anguish in their hearts. Albert, you do not love 
your relatives, otherwise you would not thus, without pity 
or remorse, permit them to sutfer and languish.” 

‘‘ Oonsuelo! Consuelo!” exclaimed Albert, as if awaking 
from a dream, do not speak to me thus ; your words 
torture me. What crime have I committed? — what dis- 
asters have I caused? Why are my friends thus afflicted? 
How many hours have passed since I left them?” 

‘^You ask how many hours! Ask rather how many 
days — how many nights — nay, now many weeks!” 

‘^Days! — nights! Hush! Oonsuelo, do not reveal to 
me the full extent of my misfortune. I was aware that I 
here lost correct ideas of time, and that the remembrance 
of what was passing on the earth did not descend with me 
into this tomb ; but I did not think that the duration of 
this unconsciousness could be measured by days and weeks.” 

Is it not, my friend, a voluntary obliviousness? Nothing 
in this place recalls the days which pass away and begin 
again ; eternal darkness here prolongs the night. You 
have not even a glass to reckon the hours. Is not this 
precaution to exclude all means of measuring time, a wild 
expedient to escape the cries of nature and the voice of 
conscience?” 

I confess that when I come here, I feel it requisite to 
abjure every thing merely human. But, 0 God! I did 
not know that grief and meditation could so far absorb my 
soul as to make long hours appear like days, or days to 
pass away as hours. AVhat am I, and why have they 
never informed me of this sad change in my mental 
organization?” 

‘‘ This misfortune is, on the contrary, a proof of great 
intellectual power, but diverted from its proper use, and 
given up to gloomy reverie. They try to hide from you 
the evils of which you are the cause. They respect your 
sufferings while they conceal their own. But in my 
opinion it was treating you with little esteem ; it was 
doubting the goodness of your heart. But, Albert, / do 
not doubt you, and / conceal nothing from you.” 

Let us go, Oonsuelo, let us go,” said Albert, quickly 


COmUBLO. 


291 


throwing his cloak over his shoulders. I am a wretch! 
I have afflicted my father whom I adore, my aunt whom I 
dearly love. I am unworthy to behold them again. Ah! 
rather than again be guilty of so much cruelty, I would 
impose upon myself the sacrifice of never revisiting this 
retreat. But, no ; once more I am happy, for I have 
found a friend in you, Consuelo, to direct my wandering 
thoughts, and restore me to my former self. Some one 
has at length told me the truth, and will always tell it to 
me. Is it not so, my dear sister 

Always, Albert ; I swear to you that you shall ever 
hear the truth from me.” 

Power Divine! and the being who comes to my aid is 
she to whom alone I can listen — whom alone I can believe. 
The ways of God are known but to himself. Ignorant of 
my own mental alienation, I have always blamed the mad- 
ness of others. Alas Consuelo! had my noble father him- 
self told me of that which you have just disclosed, I would 
not have believed him. But you are life and truth ; you 
can bring conviction, and give to my troubled soul that 
heavenly peace which emanates from yourself.” 

‘^Let us depart,” said Consuelo, assisting him to fasten 
his cloak, which his trembling hand could not arrange 
upon his shoulders. 

“ Yes, let us go,” said he, gazing tenderly upon her as 
she fulfilled this friendly office; “ but first, swear to me, 
Consuelo, that if I return hither you will not abandon me, 
swear that you will come again to seek me, were it only 
to overwhelm me with reproaches — to call me ingrate, 
parricide — and to tell me that I am unworthy of your 
solicitude. Oh! leave me not a prey to myself, now that 
you see the influence you have over my actions, and that a 
word from your lips persuades and heals, where a century 
of meditation and prayer would fail.” 

“ And will you, on your part,” replied Consuelo, leaning 
on his shoulder, and smiling expressively, “ swear never to 
return hither without me?” 

“ Will you indeed return with me!” he rapturously ex- 
claimed, looking earnestly in her face, but not daring to 
clasp her in his arms; “ only swear this to me, and I will 
pledge myself by a solemn oath never to leave my fathers 
roof without your command or permission.” 

“May God hear and receive our mutual promise!” 


292 


(JONSUBLO. 


ejaculated Consiielo, transported with joy. We will 
come back to pray in your church; and you, Albert, will 
teach me to pray, as no one has taught me hitherto; for I 
have an ardent desire to know God. You, my friend, will 
reveal heaven to me, and I when requisite will recall your 
thoughts to terrestrial things and the duties of human 
life.^^ 

Divine sister!” exclaimed Albert, his eyes swimming 
in tears of delight, ‘‘I have nothing to teach you. It is 
you who must be the agent in my regeneration. It is from 
you I shall learn all things, even prayer. I no longer re- 
quire solitude to raise my soul to God. I no longer need 
to prostrate myself over the ashes of my fathers, to com- 
prehend and feel my own immortality. To look on you is 
sufficient to raise my soul to heaven in gratitude and 
praise.” 

Consuelo drew him away, she herself opening and 
closing the doors. Here, Cynabre!” cried Albert to his 
faithful hound, giving him a lantern of better construction 
than that with which Consuelo was furnished, and better 
suited to the journey they were about to undertake. The 
intelligent animal seized the lamp with an appearance of 
pride and satisfaction, and preceded them at a measured 
pace, stopping when his master stopped, inci'easiug or 
slackening his speed as he did, and sagaciously keeping 
the middle of the path, in order to preserve his j^recious 
charge from injury by contact with the rocks or brushwood. 

Consuelo walked with great difficulty, and would have 
fallen twenty times but for Albert’s arm, which every 
moment supported and raised her up. They once more 
descended together the course of the stream, keeping along 
its fresh and verdant margin. 

Zdenko,” said Albert, delights in tending the Naiad 
of these mysterious grottoes. He smooths her bed when 
encumbered as it often is with gravel and shells: he fosters 
the pale flowers which spring up beneath her footsteps, 
and protects them against her kisses, which are sometimes 
rather rude.” 

Consuelo looked upward at the sky through the clefts of 
the rock, and saw a star glimmer in its blue vault. 
“That,” said Albert, “is Aldebaran, the star of the 
Zingari. The day will not dawn for an hour yet.” 

“That is my star,” replied Consuelo, “for I am, my 


CONSUELO, 


293 


(leur count, though not by race, by calling, a kind of 
Zingara. My mother bore no other name at Venice, 
though, in accordance with her Spanish prejudices, she 
disclaimed the degrading appellation. As for myself, I 
am still known in that country by the name "^of the 
ZingarellaJ^ 

‘‘Are you indeed one of that persecuted race,” replied 
Albert; “ if so, I should love you yet more than I do, were 
that possible.” 

Consuelo, who had thought it right to recall Count 
Rudolstadt to the disparity of their birth and condition, 
recollected what Amelia had said of Albertis sympathy for 
the wandering poor, and, fearing lest she had involuntarily 
yielded to an instinctive feeling of coquetry, she kept 
silence. 

But Albert thus interrupted it in a few moments: 

“What you have just told me,” said he, “awakens in 
me, I know not by what association of ideas, a recollection 
of my youth, childish enough it is true, but which I must 
relate to you: for since I have seen you, it has again and 
again recurred to my memory. Lean more on me, dear 
sister, while I repeat it. 

“ I was about fifteen, when, returning late one evening 
by one of the paths which border on the Schreckenstein, 
and which wind through the hills in the direction of the 
castle, I saw before me a tall thin woman, miserably clad, 
who carried a burthen on her shoulders, and who paused 
occasionally to seat herself, and to recover breath. I 
accosted her. She was beautiful, though embrowned by 
the sun and withered by misery and care. Still there was 
in her bearing, mean as was her attire, a sort of pride and 
dignity, mingled, it is true, with an air of melancholy. 
When she held out her hand to me, she rather commanded 
pity than implored it. My purse was empty. I entreated 
her to accompany me to the castle, where she could have 
help, food, and shelter for the night. 

“ ‘I would prefer remaining here,^ replied she, with a 
foreign accent, which I conceived to be that of the 
wandering Egyptians, for I was not at that time acquainted 
with the various languages which I afterward learned in my 
travels. ‘I could pay you,^ she added, ‘for the hospitality 
you offer, by singing songs of the different countries wlp’ch 
I have traversed. I rarely ask alms unless compelled to do 
so by extreme distress/ 


294 


CONSUELO. 


' Poor creature said I, ^ you bear a very heavy bur- 
den ; your feet are wounded and almost naked. Entrust 
your bundle to me ; I will carry it to my abode, and you 
will thus be able to walk with more ease.^ 

^ This burden daily becomes heavier,^ she replied, with 
a melancholy smile, which imparted a charm to her feat- 
ures; ^ but I do not complain of it. I have borne it with- 
out repining for years, and over hundreds of leagues. 1 
never trust it to any one besides myself; but you appear so 
good and so innocent, that I shall lend it to you until we 
reach your home.^ 

She then unloosed the clasp of her mantle, which en- 
tirely covered her, the handle of her guitar alone being 
visible. This movement discovered to me a child of five 
or six years old, pale and weather beaten like its mother, 
but with a countenance so sweet and calm that it filled my 
heart with tenderness. It was a little girl, quite in tatters, 
lean, but hale and strong, and who slept tranquilly as a 
slumbering cherub on the bruised and wearied back of the 
wandering songstress. I took her in my arms, but had 
some trouble in keeping her there; for, waking up and 
finding herself with a stranger, she struggled and wept. 
Her mother, to soothe her, spoke to her in her own lan- 
guage; my caresses and attentions comforted her, and on 
arriving at the castle we were the best friends in the world. 
When the poor woman had supped, she put her infant in 
a bed which I had prepared, attired herself in a strange 
dress, sadder still than her rags, and came into the hall, 
where she sang Spanish, French, and German ballads, 
with a clearness and delicacy of voice, a firmness of intona- 
tion, united to a frankness and absence of reserve in her 
manner, which charmed us all. My good aunt paid her 
every attention, which the Zingara appeared to feel ; but 
she did not lay aside her pride, and only gave evasive 
answers to our questions. The child interested me even 
more than its mother; and I earnestly wished to see her 
again, to amuse her, and even to keep her altogether. I 
know not what tender solicitude awoke in my bosom for 
this little being, poor, and a wanderer on the earth. I 
dreamed of her all night long, and in the morning I ran to 
see her. But already the Zingara had departed, and I 
traversed the whole mountain around without being able 
to discover her. She had risen before the dawn, and, with 


GOi^SVELO. 


lier child, had taken the way toward the south, Carrying 
with her my guitar, which I had made her a present of, 
her own, to her great sorrow, being broken. 

‘^Albert! Albert exclaimed Consuelo, with extraor- 
dinary emotion; ‘Uhat guitar is at Venice with Master 
Porpora, who keeps it for me, and from whom I shall re- 
claim it, never to part with it again. It is of ebony, with 
a cipher chased on silver — a cipher which I well remember, 
‘A. K.^ My mother, whose memory was defective, from 
having seen so many things, neither remembered your 
name nor that of your castle, nor even the country where 
this adventure had happened; but she often spoke of the 
hospitality she had received from the owner of the guitar, 
of the touching charity of the young and handsome signor, 
who had carried me in his arms for half a league, chatting 
with her the while as with an equal. Oh, my dear Albert, 
all that is fresh in my memory also. At each word of 
your recital, these long slumbering images were awakened 
one by one; and this is the reason why your mountains 
did not appear absolutely unknown to me, and why I 
endeavored in vain to discover the cause of these confused 
recollections which forced themselves upon me during my 
journey, and especially why, when I first saw you, my 
heart palpitated and my head bowed down respectfully, as 
if 1 had just found a friend and protector, long lost and 
regretted. 

"'Do you think, then, Consuelo, said Albert, pressing 
her to his heart, that I did not recognize you at the 
first glance? In vain have years changed and improved 
the lineaments of childhood. I have a memory wonder- 
fully retentive, though often confused and dreamy, which 
needs not the aid of sight or speech to traverse the 
space of days and of ages. I did not know that you were 
my cherished Zingarella, but I felt assured I had already 
known you, loved you, and pressed you to my heart — a 
heart which, although unwittingly, was from that instant 
bound to yours forever.” 


CONSUELO. 


296 


CHAPTER XLVIL 

Thus conversing, they arrived at the point where the 
two paths divided, and where Consuelo had met Zdenko. 
They perceived at a distance the light of his lantern, which 
was placed on the ground beside him. Consuelo, having 
learned by experience the dangerous whims, and almost 
incredible strength of the idiot, involuntarily pressed close 
to Albert, on perceiving the indication of his approach. 

Why do you fear this mild and affectionate creature?’^ 
said the young count, surprised, yet secretly gratified at 
her terror. Poor Zdenko loves you, although since yes- 
ternight a frightful dream has made him refractory and 
rather hostile to your generous project of coming to seek 
me. But he is, when I desire it, as submissive as a child, 
and you shall see him at your feet if I but say the word.'^ 

‘‘ Do not humiliate him before me,^^ replied Consuelo; 
^^do not increase the aversion which he already entertains 
for me. I shall by and bye inform you of the serious 
reasons I have to fear and avoid him for the future.” 

“Zdenko,” replied Albert, “is surely an ethereal being, 
and it is difficult to conceive how he could inspire any one 
whatever with fear. His state of perpetual ecstasy confers 
on him the purity and charity of angels.” 

“ But this state of ecstasy when it is prolonged becomes 
a disease. Do not deceive yourself on this point. God 
does not wish that man should thus abjure the feeling and 
consciousness of his real life, to elevate himself — often by 
vague conceptions — to an ideal world. Madness, the gen- 
eral result of these hallucinations, is a punishment for his 
pride and indolence.” 

Cynabre stopped before Zdenko, and looked at him af- 
fectionately, expecting some caresses, which his friend did 
not deign to bestow upon him. He sat with his head 
buried in his hands, in the same attitude and on the same 
spot as when Consuelo left him. Albert addressed him in 
Bohemian, but he hardly answered. He shook his head 
with a disconsolate air ; his cheeks were bathed in tears, 
and he would not even look at Consuelo. Albert raised 
his voice and addressed him with a determined air ; but 
there was more of exhortation and tenderness than of com- 
mand and reproach, in the tones of his voice. Zdenko 


C0N8UEL0. 


207 


rose at last, and offered his baud to Consuelo, who clasped 
it, trembling. 

‘‘ From henceforward/^ said he in German, looking at 
her kindly, though sadly, ^‘you must no longer fear me; 
but you have done me a great injury, and I feel that your 
hand is full of misfortune for us.'’^ 

He walked before them, exchanging a few words with 
Albert from time to time. They followed the spacious 
and solid gallery which Consuelo had not yet traversed 
at this extremity, and which led them to a circular vault, 
where they again met the water of the fountain, flowing 
into a vast basin, formed by the hand of man and bordered 
with hammered stone. It escaped thence by two currents, 
one of which was lost in the caverns, the other took the 
direction toward the cistern of the chateau. It was this 
which Zdenko had closed by replacing with his Herculean 
hand three enormous stones which he removed when he 
Avished to dry the cistern to the level of tlie arcade, and 
the staircase which led to Albertis terrace. 

^^Let us seat ourselves here,” said the count to his 
companion, ‘Mn order to give the water of the cistern 

time to drain off by a Avaste way ” 

AVhich I know but too well,” said Consuelo, shudder- 
ing from head to foot. 

What do you mean?” asked Albert, looking at her 
Avith surprise. 

“ I will tell you by and bye,” said Consuelo, I do not 
Avisli to grieA^e and agitate you now by the relation of the 

perils which I have surmounted ” 

But what does she mean?” cried Albert, looking at 
Zdenko. 

Zdenko replied in Bohemian with an air of indifference, 
AV'hile kneading with his long brown hands lumps of clay, 
which he placed in the interstices of his sluice, in order to 
liasten the draining of the cistern. '^Explain yourself, 
Consuelo,” said Albert, much agitated. I can compre- 
hend nothing of what he says. He pretends that he did 
not conduct you to this place, but that you came by sub- 
terranean passages which I know to be impassable, and 
where a delicate female could never have dared to venture, 
nor have been able to find her way. He says (Great God! 
Avhat does the unfortunate not say?) that it Avas destiny 
which conducted you, and that the archangel Michael, 


298 


CONSUELO. 


whom he calls the proud and domineering, cartsed you to 
pass safely through the water and the abyss/^ 

‘^It is possible,^'’ said Oonsuelo, with a smile, that the 
archangel Michael had something to do with it ; for it is 
certain that I came by the waste- way of the fountain, that 
I fled before the torrent, that I gave myself up for lost 
two or three times, that I traversed caverns and abysses 
where I expected at every step to be swallowed up or suf- 
focated; and yet the^e dangers were not more fearful than 
Zdenko’s anger, when chance or Providence caused me to 
And the true route.” Here Oonsuelo, who always ex- 
pressed herself in Spanish with Albert, related to him 
in a few words the reception which his paciflc Zdenko 
had given her, and his attempt to bury her alive 
which he had almost succeeded in accomplishing at the 
moment when she had the presence of mind to appease 
him by the singular watchword of the heretics. A cold 
perspiration burst out upon AlberPs forehead on hearing 
these incredible details, and he often darted terrible 
glances at Zdenko, as if he would have annihilated him. 
Zdenko, on meeting them, assumed a strange expression 
of revolt and disdain. Oonsuelo trembled to see these 
two insane persons excited against each other; for notwith- 
standing the profound wisdom and lofty sentiments which 
characterized the greater part of Albertis conversation, it 
was evident to her that his reason had sustained a severe 
shock, from which perhaps it would never entirely recover. 
She tried to reconcile them by addressing affectionate 
words to each. But Albert, rising and giving the keys of 
his hermitage to Zdenko, said a few cold words to him, to 
which Zdenko submitted on the instant. He then resumed 
his lantern and went his way, singing his strange airs 
with their incomprehensible words. 

Oonsuelo,” said Albert, as soon as he had retired out 
of sight, if this faithful animal which lies at your feet 
should become mad — yes, if my poor Cynabre should 
endanger your life by an involuntary fury, I should 
certainly be obliged to kill him; and do not think that I 
would hesitate, though my hand has never shed blood, 
even that of beings inferior to man. Be tranquil, there- 
fore, no danger will menace you hereafter.” 

^ Of what are you speaking, Albert?” replied the young 
girl, agitated at this unlooked-for allusion, I fear noth- 


GONSUELO. 


299 


ing now. Zdenko is still a man, though he has lost his 
reason by his own fault perhaps, and partly also by yours. 
Speak not of blood and punishment. It is your duty to 
restore him to the truth, and to cure him, instead of en- 
couraging his insanity. Come, let us go; I tremble lest 
the day should dawn, and surprise us on our arrival. 

You are right,” said Albert, continuing his route. 
“ Wisdom speaks by your lips, Consuelo. My insanity has 
smitten that unfortunate as if by contagion, and it was 
quite time for you to arrive, and save us from the abyss to 
which we were both hastening. Eestored by you, I will 
endeavor to restore Zdenko. And yet if I do not succeed, 
if his insanity again puts your life in danger, although 
Zdenko be a man in the sight of God, and an angel in 
his tenderness for me — though he be the only true friend I 
have hitherto had upon the earth — be assured, Consuelo, I 
will tear him from my heart, and you shall never see him 
again.” 

^‘Enough, enough, Albert?” murmured Consuelo, in- 
capable after so many terrors of supporting a fresh one; 

do not let such ideas dwell upon your mind. I would 
rather lose my life a hundred times, than inflict upon 
yours such a fearful necessity and such a cause for 
despair.” 

Albert did not heed her, and seemed absent. He forgot 
to support her, and did not perceive that she faltered and 
stumbled at every step. He was absorbed by the idea of 
the dangers she had incurred for his sake; and in his terror 
at picturing them to himself, in his ardent solicitude and 
excited gratitude, he walked rapidly, making the gallery 
resound with his hurried exclamations, and leaving her to 
drag herself after him with etforts which became every 
moment more painful. In this cruel situation, Consuelo 
thought of Zdenko who was behind her, and who might 
follow them; of the torrent which he always held, as it 
were, in his hand, and which he could again unchain at 
the moment when she was ascending the well alone, de- 
prived of Albertis assistance; for the latter, a prey to a new 
fancy, thought he saw her before him, and followed a de- 
ceitful phantom, while he abandoned her to darkness. 
This was too much for a woman, and even for Consuelo 
herself. Cvnabre trotted on as fast as his master, and 
bounded before him carrying the lantern, Consuelo had 


300 


CONSUELO, 


left liers in the cell. The road made numerous turns be- 
hind which the light disappeared every instant. Coiisuelo 
struck against one of those angles, fell, and could not rise 
again. The chill of death ran through all her limbs. A 
last apprehension presented itself to her mind. Zdenko 
had probably received orders to open the sluice-gate after 
a certain time, in order to conceal the staircase and the 
issue of the cistern, so that even if hatred did not inspire 
him, he would obey this necessary precaution from habit. 
‘'It is accomplished then,” thought Consuelo, making 
vain attempts to drag herself forward on her knees. “ I 
am the victim of a pitiless destiny. I shall never escape 
from this cavern — my eyes will never again behold the light 
of day.” 

Already a thicker veil than that of the outward darkness 
spread itself over her sight; her hands became numb, and 
an apathy, which resembled the sleep of death, suspended 
her terror. Suddenly she felt herself caught and raised by 
a powerful arm, which drew her toward the cistern. A 
burning bosom beats against hers, and warms it; a friendl}'’ 
and caressing voice addresses her with tender words; 
Cynabre bounds before her, shaking the light. It is Al- 
bert, who, restored to himself, seizes and saves her, with 
the passionate tenderness of a mother who has lost and 
found her child. In three minutes they arrived at the 
canal which the water of the fountain had left dry, and 
reached the archway and the staircase. Cynabre, accus- 
tomed to this dangerous ascent, leaped forward first, as if 
he feared to encumber his master’s steps by remaining too 
near him. 

Albert, carrying Consuelo on one arm, and clinging with 
the other to the chain, ascended the spiral staircase, at the 
foot of which the water already began to mount also. 
This was not the least of the dangers which Consuelo had 
encountered: but she felt no fear. Albert was endowed 
with a herculean strength, in comparison with which 
Zdenko’s was as a child’s, and at this moment he was ani- 
mated with supernatural power. When he had deposited 
his precious burden upon the margin of the well in the 
light of the breaking dawn, Consuelo, at last breathing 
freely, and rising from his panting breast, wiped with her 
veil his broad forehead bathed in perspiration. “ My 
friend/’ ghe, tenderly, "" without you I should have 


CONSUELO, 


301 


died, and you have repaid all that I have done for you; 
but I now feel your fatigue more than you do yourself, 
and it seems to me that in your place I should sink under 
it/' 

‘^0 my little Zingarella!" said Albert to her with en- 
thusiasm, kissing the veil which she rested upon his face, 
^^you are as light in my arms as on the day when I de- 
scended from the Schreckenstein to carry you to the 
clidteau." 

Which you will not again leave without my permission, 
Albert; do not forget your oath." 

Nor you yours," replied he, kneeling before her. He 
then assisted her to wrap herself in the veil, and to cross 
his chamber, from which she escaped stealthily to regain 
her own. The family began to awake in the castle. Al- 
ready from the lower story a dry and piercing cough, the 
signal of her rising, was heard from the canoness. Con- 
suelo was fortunate enough not to be seen or heard by any 
one. Fear gave her wings to regain the shelter of her 
apartment. With a trembling hand she freed herself 
from her soiled and torn clothes, and hid them in a trunk, 
from which she removed the key. Slie retained sufficient 
strength and recollection to conceal every trace of her mys- 
terious journey, but hardly had she let her wearied head 
fall upon the pillow, when a heavy yet troubled sleep, full 
of fanciful dreams and horrible adventures, chained it 
there, under the weight of an overpowering and raging 
fever. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

In’ the meantime the Canoness Wenceslawa, after spend- 
ing half an hour at her devotions, ascended the staircase, and 
according to her custom devoted the first care of the day 
to her dear nephew. She approached the door of his 
chamber, and bent her ear to the keyhole, though with 
less hope than ever of hearing the slight noise which would 
announce his return. What was her surprise and her joy on 
distinguishing the regular sound of his breathing during 
sleep ? She made a great sign of the cross, and ventured 
to unlatch the door and enter gently on tiptoe. She saw 
Albert peacefully slumbering in his bed, and Cynabre 


m 


CONSUELO. 


curled up on a neighboring arm-chair. She did not wake 
either of them, but ran to find Count Christian, who, 
prostrate in his oratory, prayed with his accustomed resig- 
nation that his son might be restored to him, either in 
heaven or upon earth. 

My brother,^’ said she to him in a low voice, and 
kneeling beside him, cease your prayers, and search your 
heart for the most fervent thanksgiving. God has heard 
you.'" 

There was no need that she should explain herself 
further. The old man, turning toward her, and meeting 
her little sparkling eyes, animated with a profound and 
sympathetic joy, raised his shriveled hands toward the altar, 
and cried with a smothered voice : '^0 my God, Thou 
hast restored to me my son!" 

Then both simultaneously began to recite in a low voice 
alternate verses of the beautiful song of Simeon — Note 
lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.^* 

They resolved not to awaken Albert. They summoned 
the baron, the chaplain, and all the servants, and devoutly 
heard mass, and returned thanksgiving in the chapel of 
the chateau. Amelia learned the return of her cousin 
with sincere joy; but she considered it very unjust that in 
order to celebrate this event piously she should be obliged 
to undergo a mass during which she had to stifle many 
yawns. 

^^Why has not your friend, the good Porporina, joined 
with us in thanking Providence?" said Count Christian to 
his niece, when the mass was ended. 

have tried in vain to awaken her," replied Amelia. 
‘T called her, shook her, and used every means; but I 
could not succeed in making her understand, or even open 
her eyes. If she were not burning hot, and red as fire, I 
should think her dead. She must have slept very badly 
last night, and she certainly has a fever." 

Then ’the sweet girl is ill!" returned the old count. 

My dear Wenceslawa, you should go and administer such 
remedies as her condition may require. God forbid that 
so happy a day should be saddened by the sulfering of that 
noble girl!" 

‘"I will go, my brother," replied the canoness, who no 
longer said a word nor took a step respecting Consuelo 
witliout consulting the chaplain's looks. ^^But do not be 


ComVELO. 


803 

uneasy^ Christian; it will be of no consequence. The 
Signora Nina is very nervous; she will soon be well.^^ 

Stillj is it not a very singular thing/’ said she to the 
chaplain an instant after, when she could take him aside, 
‘^that this girl should have predicted Albert’s return with 
so much confidence and accuracy? Dear chaplain, possibly 
we have been mistaken respecting her. Perhaps she is a 
kind of saint who has revelations.” 

A saint would have come to hear mass, instead of hav- 
ing the fever at such a moment,” objected the chaplain 
with a profound air. 

This judicious remark drew a sigh from the canoness. 
She nevertheless went to see Consuelo, and found her in a 
burning fever, accompanied by an unconquerable lethargy. 
The chaplain was called, and declared that she would be 
very ill if the fever continued. He questioned the young 
baroness as to whether her neighbor had not passed a very 
disturbed night. 

‘^On the contrary,” replied Amelia, I did not hear her 
move. I expected from her predictions and the fine stories 
she has been telling for some days past, to have heard the 
sahbat danced in her apartment. But the devil must have 
carried her a great ways off, or -she must have had to deal 
with very well-educated imps, for she did not move, so far 
as I know, and my sleep was not disturbed a single in- 
stant.” 

These pleasantries appeared to the chaplain to be in very 
bad taste; and the canoness, whose heart made amends for 
the failings of her mind, considered them misplaced at the 
bedside of a friend who was seriously ill. Still she said 
nothing, attributing her niece’s, bitterness to a too well- 
founded jealousy, and asked the chaplain what medicines 
ought to be administered to the Porporina. 

He ordered a sedative, which they could not make her 
swallow. Her teeth were locked, and her livid lips rejected 
all liquid. The chaplain pronounced this to be a bad sign. 
But with an apathy which was unfortunately too conta- 
gious in that house, he deferred until a second examina- 
tion the judgment he should have pronounced upon the 
patient. We will see ; ive must wait; loe can decide on 
nothing as yet;’^ such were the favorite sentences of the ton- 
sured Esculapius. If this continues,” repeated he, on quit- 
ting OonsLielo^s chamber, we must consider about the pro- 


S04 


ComVELO. 


priety of calling in a physician, for I would not take upon 
myself the responsiblity of treating an extraordinary case 
of nervous affection. I will pray for this young lady, and 
perhaps in the state of mind which she has manifested 
during these last few days, we must expect from God alone 
assistance more efficacious than that of art.” 

They left a maid-servant by the bedside of Consuelo, 
and went to prepare for breakfast. The canoness herself 
kneaded the sweetest cake that had ever been produced by 
her skillful hands. She flattered herself that Albert, after 
his long fast, would eat this favorite dish with pleasure. 
The lovely Amelia made a toilet charming in its freshness, 
hoping that her cousin might feel some regret at having 
offended and irritated her, when he saw her so bewitching. 
Every one thought of preparing some agreeable surprise 
for the young count, and they forgot the only one who 
ought to have interested them — the poor Consuelo — to 
whom they were indebted for his return, and whom Albert 
would be impatient to see again. 

Albert soon awoke, and instead of making useless at- 
tempts to recall the occurrences of the preceding night, as 
was always the case after those fits of insanity which drove 
him to his subterranean abode, he promptly recovered the 
recollection of his love, and of the happiness which Con- 
suelo had bestowed upon him. He rose quickly, dressed 
and perfumed himself, and ran to throw himself into the 
arms of his father and his aunt. The joy of those good 
relatives was at its height when they saw that Albert had 
full possession of his reason, that he had a consciousness of 
his long absence, and that he asked their forgiveness with 
an ardent tenderness, promising never again to cause them 
so much trouble and uneasiness. He saw the transports 
excited by his return to the knowledge of the reality ; but 
he remarked the care they persisted in taking to conceal 
his situation from him, and he was somewliat humbled at 
being treated like a child, when he felt that he had again 
become a man. He submitted, however, to this punish- 
ment — too trifling in proportion to the evil he had caused 
— saying to himself that it was a salutary warning, and 
that Consuelo would be pleased at his comprehending and 
accepting it. 

As soon as he was seated at table, in the midst of the 
caresses, the tears of happiness, and the earnest attention 


C0N8UEL0. 


305 


of his family, he anxiously looked around for her who had 
now become necessary to his life and his peace. He saw 
her place empty, and dared not ask why the Porporina did 
not appear. Still the canoness, who saw him turn his head 
and start every time the door opened, thought herself 
obliged to relieve him from all'anxiety by saying that their 
young guejjt had slept badly, that slie was now quiet, and 
expected to keep her bed a part of the day. 

Albert knew very well that his liberator must be over- 
powered by fatigue, and yet terror was depicted on his 
countenance at this news. “My dear aunt,^’ said he, no 
longer able to restrain his emotion. “ I think that if the 
adopted daughter of Porpora were seriously indisposed, we 
should not all be here at table, quietly engaged in eating 
and talking.” - 

“ Comfort yourself, Albert,” said Amelia, reddening 
with vexation, “Nina is busy dreaming of you, and pre- 
dicting your return, which she awaits, sleeping, while we 
here celebrate it in joy.” 

Albert turned pale with indignation, and darting a 
withering glance at his cousin, “ If any one here has slept 
during my absence,” said he, “ it is not the person whom 
you name, who should be reproached with it; the freshness 
of your cheeks, my fair cousin, testifies that you have not 
lost an hour of sleep during my absence, and that you have 
at this moment no need of repose. I thank you with all 
my heart, for it would be very painful for me to ask your 
forgiveness, as I do that of all the other members and 
friends of my family.” 

“ Many thanks for the exception,” returned Amelia, 
crimson with anger; “I will endeavor always to deserve it, 
by keeping my watchings and anxieties for some one w'ho 
will feel obliged for them, and not turn them into a jest.” 

This little altercation, which was by no means a new 
thing between Albert and his betrothed, but which had 
never been so bitter on either one side or the other, threw 
an air of gloom and restraint over the rest of the morning, 
notwithstanding all the efforts which were made to divert 
AlberPs attention. 

The’ canoness went to see her patient several times, and 
found her each time more feverish and more oppressed. 
Amelia, whom Albert's anxiety wounded as if it had been 
a pcrsou‘4l tiffair, w^ut to weep iu her chamber. The chap- 


306 


CONSUELO. 


/ 


lain ventured so far as to say to the canoness that a physi- 
cian must be sent for in the evening, if the fever did not 
abate. Count Christian kept his son near him, to distract 
his thoughts from an anxiety which he did not compre- 
liend, and which he believed^ still to be the result of dis- 
ease. But while chaining him to his side by affectionate 
words, the good old man could not find the least subject 
for conversation and intimacy with that spirit which he 
had never wished to sound, from the fear of being con- 
quered and subdued by an intellect superior to his own in 
matters of religion. It is true that Count Christian called 
by the names of madness and rebellion, that bright light 
which pierced through the eccentricities of Albert, and 
the splendor of which the feeble eyes of a rigid Catholic 
could not endure ; but he resisted the feeling which im- 
pelled him to question him seriously. Every time he had 
tried to correct his heresies, he had been reduced to silence 
by arguments full of justice and firmness. Nature had 
not made him eloquent. He had not that ease and anima- 
tion which maintains a controversy, and still less that 
charlatanism of discussion which, in default of logic, im- 
poses by an air of science and pretended certainty. Simple 
and modest, he allowed his lips to be closed ; he re- 
proached himself with not having turned his younger days 
to better account, by studying those profound arguments 
which Albert opposed to him; and certain that there were, 
in theological science, treasures of truth by means of which 
one more learned and skillful than himself could have 
crushed Albertis heresy, he clung to his shaken faith, and 
in order to excuse himself from acting more energetically, 
took refuge in his ignorance and simplicity, and therebv 
emboldened the rebel, and did him more harm than good. 

Their conversation, interrupted twenty times by a kind 
of mutual fear, and twenty times resumed with effort on 
both sides, at last failed of itself. Old Christian fell asleep 
in his arm-chair, and Albert left him to go and obtain in- 
formation respecting Consuelo^s condition, which alarmed 
him the more, the more they tried to conceal it from 
him. 

He spent more than two hours wandering about the 
corridors of the chateau, watching for the canoness and the 
chaplain on their passage to and fro to ask them for news. 
The chaplain persisted in answering him concisely and 


CONSUELO. 


307 


briefly; the canoness put on a smiling face as soon as she 
perceived -him, and affected to speak of other things, in 
order to deceive him by an appearance of security. But 
Albert saw that she began to be seriously alarmed, and that 
she continually made more and more frequent visits to Con- 
suelo^s chamber, and he remarked that they did not fear to 
open and close the doors every moment, as if that sleep, 
which they pretended was quiet and necessary, could not 
be disturbed by noise and agitation. He ventured so far 
as to approach that chamber into which he would have 
given his life to penetrate for a single instant. The en- 
trance was through another room, which was separated from 
the corrider by two thick doors through which neither 
sight nor sound could penetrate. The canoness, remarking 
this attempt, shut and locked both, and no longer visited 
the patient except by passing through Amelia^s chamber, 
which was adjoining, and where Albert would not have 
sought information without extreme repugnance. At last, 
seeing him exasperated, and fearing the return of his dis- 
ease, she ventured on a falsehood ; and while asking for- 
giveness of God in her heart, she announced to him that 
the invalid was much better, and that she promised to 
come down and dine with the family. 

Albert did not mistrust his aunt^s words, whose pure lips 
had never sinned against truth so openly as they had just 
done ; and he rejoined the old count, praying with fervor 
for the hour which was to restore to him Consuelo and hap- 
piness. 

But the hour struck in vain. Consuelo did not appear. 
The canoness, making a rapid progress in the art of lying, 
told him that she had risen, but that she found herself still 
somewhat weak, and preferred dining in her apartment. She 
even pretended to send up choice portions of the most 
delicate dishes. These artifices triumphed oyer Albert's 
terror. Although he experienced an overpowering sadness, 
and as it were a presentiment of some misfortune, he sub- 
mitted, and made great efforts to appear calm. 

In the evening, Wenceslawa came with an air of satisfac- 
tion which was hardly at all assumed to say that the Por- 
porina was better ; that her skin was no longer burning ; 
that her pulse was rather weak than full, and that she 
would certainly pass an excellent night. Why then am I 
frozen with terror, notwithstanding these good tidings T" 


308 


CONSUELO. 


thought the young count, as he took leave of his relatives 
at the accustomed hour. 

The fact, was that the good canoness, who, notwithstand- 
ing her emaciation and deformity, had never been ill in 
her life, understood nothing of the maladies of others. 
She saw Oonsuelo pass from a fiery redness to a livid pale- 
ness, her feverish blood congeal in her arteries, and her 
chest, too much oppressed to be raised under the effort of 
respiration, appear calm and motionless. For an instant 
she thought her relieved, and had announced this news 
with a childlike confidence. But the chaplain, who was 
rather better informed, saw plainly that this apparent 
repose was the forerunner of a violent crisis. As soon as 
Albert had retired, he gave the canoness notice that the 
hour had come to send for a physician. Unfortunately 
the city was far distant, the night dark, the roads detest- 
able, and Hans very slow, notwithstanding his zeal. The 
storm rose, the rain fell in torrents. The old horse which 
carried the aged servant stumbled twenty times, and 
finished by losing himself in the woods with his terrified 
rider, who took every hill for the Schreckenstein, and 
every fiash of lightning for the fiaming fiight of an evil 
spirit. It was not till broad daylight that Hans again 
found the road. With the speediest trot into which he 
could urge his steed, he approached the town, where he 
found the physician sound asleep; the latter was awakened, 
dressed himself slowly, and at last set out. Four and 
twenty hours had been lost in deciding upon and effecting 
this step. 

Albert tried in vain to sleep. A burning anxiety and 
the fearful noises of the storm kept him awake all night. 
He dare not come down, fearing again to scandalize his 
aunt, who had lectured him in the morning on the impro- 
priety of his continual presence near the apartment of the 
two young ladies. He left his door open, and heard fre- 
quent steps in the lower story. He ran to the staircase ; 
but seeing no one, and hearing nothing more, he tried to 
take courage and to place to the account of the wind and 
the rain, the deceitful noises which had terrified him. 
Since Consuelo had requested it, he nursed his reason and 
his moral health with patience and firmness. He repelled 
his agitations and fears, and strove to raise himself above 
his love by the strength of that love itself. But suddenly. 


oonsuelo. 


m 


in tl?e midst of tlie rattling of the thunder and the creak- 
ing of the old timbers of the chdtean, which groaned 
under the force of the hurricane, a long, heart-rending 
cry ascended even to him, and pierced his bosom like 
the stroke of a poniard. Albert, who had thrown 
himself all dressed upon his bed with the resolution of 
going to sleep, bounds up, rushes forward, clears the stair- 
case with the speed of lightning, and knocks at Oonsuelo's 
door. Silence once more reigned. No one came to open 
it. Albert thought he had dreamed again ; but a second 
cry, more dreadful, more piercing than the first, rent his 
heart. He hesitates no longer, rushes down a dark corri- 
dor, reaches the door of Amelia’s chamber, shakes it and 
announces himself by name. He hears a bolt shot, and 
Amelia’s voice imperiously orders him to begone. Still 
the cries and shrieks redouble. It is the voice of Consuelo, 
who is suffering intolerable agony. He hears his own 
name breathed with despair by those adored lips. He 
pushes the door with rage, makes latch and lock fly, and 
thrusting aside Amelia, who plays the part of outraged 
modesty on being surprised in a damask dressing-gown and 
lace cap, pushes her back upon her sofa, and rushes into 
Consuelo’s apartment, pale as a specter, his hair erect with 
terror! 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

Consuelo, a prey to violent delirium, was struggling in 
the arms of two of the most vigorous maid-servants of the 
house, who could hardly prevent her from throwing her- 
self out of bed. Haunted, as happens in certain cases of 
brain fever, by phantoms, the unhappy girl endeavored to 
fly from'the visions by which she was assailed, and imag- 
ined she saw, in the persons who endeavored to restrain 
and relieve her, savage enemies or monsters bent upon her 
destruction. The terrified chaplain, who every moment 
feared to see her sink under her sufferings, was already re- 
peating by her side the prayers for the departing, but she 
took him for Zdenko chanting his mysterious psalms, 
while he built up the wall which was to inclose her. The 
trembling canoness, who joined her feeble efforts with 
those of the other women to hold her in bed, seemed to 


310 


OOmUELO. 


her the phantom of the two Wandas, the sister of 2iiska 
and the mother of Albert, appearing by turns in the 
grotto of the recluse and reproaching her with usurping 
their rights and invading their domain. Her delirious ex- 
clamations, her shrieks, and her prayers, incomprehensi- 
ble to those about her, had all a direct relation to the 
thoughts and objects which had so Violently agitated and 
affected her the night before. She heard the roaring of 
the torrent, and imitated with her arms the motion of 
swimming. She shook her dark, disheveled tresses over 
her shoulders, and imagined she saw floods of foam falling 
about her. She continually saw Zdenko behind her, en- 
gaged in opening the sluice, or before her, making frantic 
efforts to close the path. She talked of nothing but water 
and rocks, wdth a continued throng of images which caused 
the chaplain to shake his head and say: What a long and 
painful dream! I cannot conceive why her mind should 
have been so much occupied of late with that cistern; it 
was doubtless a commencement of fever, and you see that 
in her delirium she always recurs to it. 

Just as Albert entered her room, aghast, Consuelo, ex- 
hausted by fatigue, was uttering only inarticulate sounds 
terminating at intervals in wild shrieks. The frightful ad- 
ventures she had undergone, being no longer restrained by 
the power of her will, recurred to her mind with frightful 
intensity. In her delirium she called on Albert with 
a voice so full and so vibrating that it seemed to shake the 
whole house to its foundations ; then her cries died away 
in long-drawn sobs which seemed to suffocate her, although 
her haggard eyes were dry and absolutely blazing with 
fever. 

"• I am here! I am here!’' cried Albert, rushing toward 
the bed. Consuelo heard him, recovered all her energy, 
and imagining that he fled before her, disengaged' herself 
from the hands that held her, with that rapidity of move- 
ment and muscular force which the delirium of fever gives 
to the weakest beings. She bounded into the middle of 
the room, her hair disheveled, her feet bare, her form 
wrapped in a thin white night-dress, which gave her the 
appearance of a specter escaped from the tomb; and just 
as they thought to seize her again, she leaped with the 
agility of a wild-cat upon the spinet which was before her, 
reached the window, which she took for the opening of tlie 


CONSUELO, 


311 


fatal cistern, placed one foot upon it, extended her arms, 
and again calling on the name of Albert, in accents which 
floated out on the dark and stormy night, was about to 
dash herself down, when Albert, even more strong and 
agile than she, encircled her in his arms, and carried her 
back to her bed. She did not recognize him, but she 
made no resistance, and ceased to utter his name. Albert 
lavished upon her in Spanish the tenderest names and the 
most fervent prayers. She heard him with her eyes fixed, 
and without seeing or answering him; but suddenly rising 
and throwing herself on her knees in the bed, she began 
to sing a stanza of HandeFs Te Deum, which she had re- 
cently read and admired. Never had her voice possessed 
more expression and brilliancy; never had she been more 
beautiful than in that ecstatic attitude, her hair flowing, 
her cheeks lighted up with the fire of fever, and her eyes 
seeming to pierce the heavens opened for them alone. 
The canoness was so much moved that she knelt at the 
foot of the bed and burst into tears; and the chaplain, 
notwithstanding his want of sympathy, bent his head and 
felt penetrated with a sentiment of pious respect. Hardly 
had Oonsuelo finished the stanza, when she uttered a deep 
sigh, and a holy rapture shone in her countenance. “I 
am saved r’ cried she, and she fell backward, pale and cold 
as marble, her eyes still open, but fixed and motionless, her 
lips blue and her arms rigid. A momentary silence and 
stupor succeeded to this scene. Amelia, who, erect and 
motionless at the door of her chamber, had witnessed the 
frightful spectacle without daring to move a step, fainted 
away with terror. The canoness and the two women ran 
to help her. Oonsuelo remained pale and motionless, rest- 
ing upon Albert’s arm, who had let his head fall upon the 
bosom of the dying girl, and appeared scarcely more alive 
than herself. The canoness had no sooner seen Amelia 
laid upon her bed, than she returned to the threshold of 
Oonsuelo’s chamber. Well, Mr. Chaplain?” said she, de- 
jectedly. 

Madam, it is death!” replied the chaplain, in a hollow 
voice, letting fall Oonsuelo’s arm, the pulse of which he 
had been examining attentively. 

"'No, it is not death! no! a thousand times no!” cried 
Albert, raising himself impetuously. " I have consulted 
her heart better than you have consulted her arm. It still 


312 


CONSUELO. 


beats; she breathes — she lives. Oh! slie will live! It is 
not thus, it is not now, that her life is to end. Who is 
bold and rash enough to believe that God. had decreed her 
death? Now is the time to apply the necessary remedies. 
Chaplain, give me your box of medicines. I know what is 
required, and you do not. Wretch that you are, obey me! 
You have not assisted her; you might have prevented this 
horrible crisis, you did not do it; you have concealed her 
illness from me; you have all deceived me. Did you wish 
to destroy her? Your cowardly prudence, your hideous 
apathy, have tied your tongue and your hands! Give me 
your box, I say, and let me act.'’^ 

And as the chaplain hesitated to trust him with medi- 
cines, which in the hand of an excited and half frantic 
man might become poisons, he wrested it from him 
violently. Deaf to the observations of his aunt, he 
selected and himself poured out doses of the most power- 
ful and active medicines. Albert was more learned on 
many subjects than they supposed, and had practiced upon 
himself, at a period of his life when he had studied care- 
fully the frequent disorders which affected his brain, and 
he knew the effects of the most energetic stimulants. 
Actuated by a prompt judgment, inspired by a courageous 
and resolute zeal, he administered a dose which the chap- 
lain would never have dared to recommend. He succeeded, 
with incredible patience and gentleness, in unclosing the 
teeth of the sufferer, and making her swallow some drops 
of this powerful remedy. At the end of an hour, during 
which he several times repeated the dose, Consuelo 
breathed freely; her hands had recovered their warmth, 
and her features their elasticity. She neither heard nor 
felt any thing yet ; but her prostration seemed gradually 
to partake more of the nature of sleep, and a slight color 
returned to her lips. The physician arrived, and seeing 
that the case was a serious one, declared that he had been 
called very late, and that he would not be answerable for 
the result. The patient ought to have been bled the day 
before ; now the crisis was no longer favorable. Bleeding 
would certainly bring back the paroxysm. That was 
embarrassing. 

‘^It will bring it back,” said Albert; ''and yet she 
must be bled.” 

The German physician, a heavy, self -conceited personage, 


CONSUELO. 


313 


accustomed, in his country practice, where he had no 
competitor, to be listened to as an oracle, scowlingly raised 
his heavy eyes toward the person who thus presumed to 
cut the question short. 

"‘I tell you she must be bled,’^ resumed Albert, firmly. 

With or without bleeding the crisis will return.” 

'^Excuse me;” said Doctor Wetzelius; "Hhat is not so 
certain as you seem to think.” And he smiled in a dis- 
dainful and sarcastic manner. 

the crisis do not return, all is lost,” repeated 
Albert; ^^and you ought to know it. This stupor leads 
directly to suffusion of the brain, to paralysis and death. 
Your duty is to arrest the malady, to restore its intensity 
in order to combat it, and in the end to overcome it, If 
it be not so, why have you come here? Prayers and burials 
do not belong to you. Bleed her, or I will.” 

The doctor well knew that Albert reasoned justly, and 
he had from the first the intention of bleeding; but it was 
not expedient for a man of his importance to determine 
and execute so speedily. That would have led people to 
conclude that the case was a simple one and the treatment 
easy, and our German was therefore accusto’med, on tlie 
pretense of serious difficulties and varying symptoms, to 
prolong his diagnosis, in order to secure in the end for his 
professional skill a fresh triumph as if by a sudden fiash of 
genius, and to hear himself thus fiattered, as he had been 
a thousand times before: The malady was so far advanced, 
so dangerous, that Doctor AYetzelius himself did not know 
what to determine; no other than he would have seized 
the moment and divined the remedy. He is very prudent, 
very learned, very firm. He has not his equal, even in 
Vienna.” 

If you are a physician, and have authority here,” said 
he, when he saw himself contradicted and put to the wall 
by Alberts impatience, I do not see why I should have 
been called in, and I shall therefore leave the room.” 

^^If you do not wish to decide at the proper time, you 
may retire,” said Albert. 

Doctor Wetzelius, deeply wounded at having been associ- 
ated with one of the fraternity who treated him with so 
little deference, rose and passed into Amelia^s room to 
attend to the nerves of that young lady, who impatiently 
called him, and to take leave of the canoness; but the 
latter prevented his sudden retreat. 


314 


G0N8UBL0. 


''Alas, my dear doctor,” said she, "you cannot abandon 
us in such a situation. See what lieavy responsibility 
weighs on us. My nephew has offended you, but you 
should not resent so seriously the hastiness of a young man 
who is so little master of himself.” 

" Was that Count Albert ?” asked the doctor, amazed. 
" I should never have recognized him. He is so much 
altered !” 

" Without doubt, the ten years which have elapsed since 
you saw him have made a great change in him.” 

" I thought him completely cured,” said the doctor, 
maliciously; "for I have not been sent for once since his 
return.” 

"Ah! my dear doctor, you are aware that Albert never 
willingly submitted to the decisions of science.” 

" And now he appears to be a physician himself!” 

" He has a slight knowledge of all sciences, but carries 
into all his uncontrollable impatience. The frightful state 
is which he has just seen this young girl has agitated him 
terribly, otherwise you would have seen him more polite, 
more calm, and grateful to you for the care you bestowed 
on him in his infancy.” 

" I think he requires care more than ever,” replied the 
doctor, who, in spite of his respect for the Rudolstadt 
family, preferred afflicting the canoness by tliis harsh 
observation, to stooping from his professional position, 
and giving up the petty revenge of treating Albert as a 
madman. 

The canoness suffered the more from this cruelty, that 
the exasperation of the doctor might lead him to reveal 
the condition of her nephew, which she took such pains to 
conceal. She therefore laid aside her dignity for the 
moment to disarm his resentment, and deferentially in- 
quired what he thought of the bleeding so much insisted 
on by Albert. 

" I think it is absurd at present,” said the doctor, who 
wished to maintain the initiative, and allow the decision 
to come perfectly free from his respected lips. " I shall 
wait an hour or two ; and if the right moment should 
arrive sooner than I expect, I shall act ; but in the present 
crisis, the state of the. pulse does not warrant me taking 
any decisive step.” 

"Then you will remain with us? Bless yon, excellent 
doctor!” 


C0N8UEL0. 


315 


'‘When I am now aware that my opponent is the 
young count/^ replied the doctor, smiling with a patroniz- 
ing .and, compassionate air, '' I shall not be astonished at 
any thing, and shall allow him to talk as he pleases.” 

And he was turning to re-enter Consuelo’s apartment, 
the door of which the chaplain had closed to prevent 
Albert hearing this colloquy, when the chaplain himself, 
pale and bewildered, left the sick girhs couch, and came 
to seek the physician. 

" In the name of Heaven! doctor,” he exclaimed, 
" come and use your authority, for mine is despised, as 
the voice of God himself would be I believe, by Count 
Albert. He persists in bleeding the dying girl, contrary 
to your express prohibition. I know not by what force or 
stratagem we shall prevent him. He will maim her, if he 
do not kill her on the spot, by some untimely blunder.” 

" So, so,” muttered the doctor, in a sulky tone, as he 
stalked leisurely toward the door, with the conceited and 
insulting air of a man devoid of natural feeling, we 
shall see fine doings if I fail in diverting his attention in 
some way.” 

But when they approached the bed, they found Albert 
with his reddened lancet between his teeth ; with one 
hand he supported Consuelo’s arm, while with the other 
he held the basin. The vein was open, and dark-colored 
blood flowed in an abundant stream. 

The chaplain began to murmur, to exclaim, and to 
take Heaven to witness. The doctor endeavored to jest a 
little to distract Albertis thoughts, conceiving he might 
take his own time to close the vein, were it only to open it 
a moment after, that his caprice and vanity might thus 
enjoy all the credit of success. But Albert kept them all 
at a distance by a mere glance ; and as soon as he had 
drawn a sufficient quantity of blood, he applied the neces- 
sary bandages, with the dexterity of an experienced opera- 
tor. He then gently replaced Consuelo’s arm by her side, 
handing the canoness a vial to hold to her nostrils, and 
called the chaplain and the doctor into Amelia^s chamber. 

" Gentlemen,” said he, "you can now be of no further 
use. Indecision and prejudice united paralyze your zeal 
and your knowledge. I here declare that I take all the 
responsibility on myself, and that I will not be either 
opposed or molested in so serious a task. I beg therefore 


316 


CONSXIELO. 


that the chaplain may recite his prayers and the doctor 
administer his potions to my cousin. I shall suffer no 
prognostics, nor sentences of death around the bed of one 
who will soon regain her consciousness. Let this be settled. 
If in this instance I offend a learned man — if I am guilty 
of culpable conduct toward a friend — I shall ask pardon 
when I can once more think of myself.” 

After having thus spoken in a tone, the serious and 
studied politeness of which was in strong contrast with the 
coldness and formality of his words, Albert re-entered 
Consuelo^s apartment, closed the door, put the key in his 
pocket, and said to the canoness : No one shall either 
enter or leave this room without my permission.” 


CHAPTER L. 

The terrified canoness dared not venture a word in 
reply. There was something so resolute in Alberts air 
and demeanor that his good aunt quailed before it, and 
obeyed him with an alacrity quite surprising in her. The 
physician finding his authority despised, and not caring, 
as he afterward affirmed, to encounter a madman, wisely 
determined to withdraw. The chaplain betook himself to 
his prayers, and Albert, assisted by his aunt and two of 
the domestics, remained the whole day with his patient, 
without relaxing his attentions for an instant. After some 
hours of quiet, the paroxysm returned with an intensity 
almost greater than that of the preceding night. It was, 
however, of shorter duration, and when it yielded to the 
effect of powerful remedies, Albert desired the canoness to 
retire to rest, and to send him another female domestic to 
assist him while the two others took some repose. 

Will you not also take some rest?” asked Wenceslawa, 
trembling. 

No, my dear aunt,” he replied, I require none.” 

Alas! my child,” said she, ‘^you will kill yourself, 
then,” and she added as she left the room, emboldened 
by the abstraction of the count, This stranger costs us 
dear.” 

He consented however to take some food, in order to 
keep up his strength. He eat standing in the corridor. 


OONSUELO. 


317 


his eye fixed upon the door, and as soon as he had fin- 
ished his hasty repast, he threw down the napkin, and re- 
entered the room. He had closed the communication 
between the chamber of Consnelo and that of Amelia, and 
only allowed the attendants to gain access by the gallery. 
Amelia wished to be admitted to tend her sufferings com- 
panion; but she went so awkwardly about it, and, dreading 
the return of convulsions, displayed such terror at every 
feverish movement, that Albert became irritated, and 
begged her not to trouble herself further but retire to her 
own apartment. 

^^To my apartment!” exclaimed Amelia; “impossible! 
do you imagine I could sleep with these frightful cries of 
agony ringing in my ears?” 

Albert shrugged his shoulders, and replied that there 
were many other apartments in the castle, of which she 
might select the best, until the invalid could be removed 
to one where her proximity should annoy no one. 

Amelia, irritated and displeased, followed the advice. 
To witness the delicate care which Albert displayed toward 
her rival was more painful than all. “ 0, aunt!” she ex- 
claimed, throwing herself into the arms of the canoness, 
when the latter had brought her to sleep in her own 
bedroom, where she had a bed prepared for her beside her 
own, “we did- not know Albert. He now shows how he 
can love.” 

For many days Consnelo hovered between life and death; 
but Albert combated her malady with such perseverance 
and skill as finally to conquer it. He bore her through 
this rude trial in safety; and as soon as she was out of 
danger, he caused her to be removed to an apartment in 
a turret of the castle, where the sun shone for the longest 
time, and where the view was more extensive and varied 
than from any of the other windows. The chamber, fur- 
nished after an antique fashion, was more in unison with 
the serious tastes of Consnelo than the one they had first 
prepared for her, and she had long evinced a desire to 
occupy it. Here she was free from the importunities of 
her companion, and in spite of the continual presence of a 
nurse, who was engaged each morning and evening, she 
could enjoy the hours of convalescence agreeably with her 
preserver. They always conversed in Spanish, and the 
tender and delicate manifestation of Albert’s love was so 


318 


CONSUELO. 


much the sweeter to Consnelo in that language, which re- 
called her country, her childhood, and her mother. Im- 
bued with the liveliest gratitude, weakened bysutferings in 
which Albert alone had effectively aided and consoled her, 
she submitted to that gentle lassitude which is the result 
of severe indisposition. Her recollections of the past re- 
turned by degrees, but not with equal distinctness. For 
example, if she recalled with undisguised satisfaction the 
support and devotion of Albert, during the principal events 
of their acquaintance, she saw his mental estrangement, 
and his somewhat gloomy passion, as through a thick cloud. 
There were even hours, during the half consciousness of 
sleep, or after composing draughts, when she imagined 
that she had dreamed many of the things that could give 
cause for distrust or fear of her generous friend. She was 
so much accustomed ' to his presence and his attentions, 
that if he absented himself at prayer or at meals, she felt 
nervous and agitated until his return. She fancied that 
her medicines, when prepared and administered by any 
other hand than his, had an effect the contrary of that which 
was intended. She would then observe with a tranquil 
smile, so affecting on a lovely countenance half-veiled by 
the shadow of death; ^‘1 now believe, Albert, that you are 
an enchanter; for if you order but a single drop of water, 
it produces in me the same salutary calmness and strength 
which exist in yourself.” 

Albert was happy for the first time in his life; and as if 
his soul was strong in joy as it had been in grief, he deemed 
himself, at this period of intoxicating delight, the most 
fortunate man on earth. This chamber where he con- 
stantly saw his beloved one had become his world. At 
night, after he was supposed to have retired, and every one 
was thought asleep in the house, he returned with stealthy 
steps ; and while the nurse in charge slept soundly, he 
glided behind the bed of his dear Consnelo, and watched 
her sleeping, pale and drooping like a flower after the 
storm. He settled himself in a large arm-chair, which he 
took care to leave there when he went away, and thus 
passed the night, sleeping so lightly that at the least move- 
ment of Consnelo, he awoke and bent toward her to catch 
lier faint words; or his ready hand received hers when, a 
prey to some unhappy dream, she was restless and dis- 
quieted. If the nurse chanced to awake, Albert declared 


CONSUBLO. 


319 


he had just come in, and she rested satisfied that he merely 
visited his patient once or twice during the night, while 
in reality he did not waste half an hour in his own cham- 
ber. Consuelo shared his feeling, and although discover- 
ing the presence of her guardian much more frequently 
than that of the nurse, she was still so weak as to be easily 
deceived as to the number and duration of his visits. 
Often when, after midnight, she found him watching over 
her, and besought him to retire and take a few hours re- 
pose, he would evade her desire by saying that it was now 
near daybreak, and that he had just risen. These inno- 
cent deceptions excited no suspicion in the mind of Con- 
suelo of the fatigue to which her lover was subjecting 
himself; and to them it was owing that she seldom suffered 
from the absence of Albert. This fatigue, strange as it 
may appear, was unperceived by the young count himself; 
so true is it that love imparts strength to the weakest. He 
possessed, however, a powerful organization; and he was 
animated, besides, by a love as ardent and devoted as ever 
fired a human breast. 

When, during the first warm rays of the sun, Consuelo 
was able to bear removal to the half-open window, Albert 
seated himself behind her, and sought in the course of the 
clouds and in the purple tints of the sunbeams, to divine 
the thoughts with which the aspect of the skies inspired 
his silent friend. Sometimes he silently took a corner of 
the veil with which she covered her head, and which a 
warm wind floated over the back of the sofa, and bending 
forward his forehead as if to rest, pressed it to his lips. 
One day Consuelo, drawing it forward to cover her chest, 
was surprised to find it warm and moist; and turning more 
quickly than she had done since her illness, perceived some 
extraordinary emotion on the countenance of her friend. 
Ilis cheeks were flushed, a feverish fire shone in his eyes, 
while his breast heaved with violent palpitations. Albert 
quickly recovered himself, but not before he had perceived 
terror depicted on the countenance of Consuelo. This deeply 
afflicted him. He would rather have witnessed there an 
emotion of contempt, or even of severity, than a lingering 
feeling of fear and distrust. He resolved to keep so careful 
a watch over himself that no trace of his aberration of 
mind should be visible to her who had cured him of it, 
almost at the price of her own life. 


320 


CONSUELO. 


He succeeded, thanks to a superhuman power, and one 
which no ordinary man could have exercised. Accustomed 
to repress his emotions, and to enjoy the full scope of his 
desires, when not incapacitated by his mysterious disease, 
he restrained himself to an extent that he did not get 
credit for. His friends were ignorant of the frequency and 
force of the attack which he had every day to overcome, 
until, overwhelmed by despair, he fled to his secret cavern — 
a conqueror even in defeat, since he still maintained suffi- 
cient circumspection to hide from all eyes the spectacle of 
his fall. Albertis madness was of the most unhappy and yet 
elevated stamp. He knew his madness and felt its ap- 
proach, until it had completely laid hold of and over- 
powered him. Yet he preserved in the midst of his attacks 
the vague and confused remembrance of an external world, 
in which he did not wish to reappear while he felt his rela- 
tions with it not perfectly established. This memory of an 
actual and real life we all retain, when in the dreams of a 
painful sleep we are transported into another life — a life of 
fiction and indefinable visions. We occasionally struggle 
against these fantasies and terrors of the night, assuring 
ourselves that they are merely the effects of nightmare, 
and making efforts to awake; but on such occasions a hos- 
tile power appears to seize upon us at every effort, and to 
plunge us again into a horrible lethargy, where terrible 
spectacles, ever growing more gloomy, close around us, 
and where griefs the most poignant assail and torture us. 

In alternations of being which bore a striking analogy 
to the state we have described, passed the miserable life of 
thjs powerful intellect, so totally misunderstood by all 
around him, and whom an active yet delicate and discrim- 
inating tenderness alone could have saved from his own dis- 
tresses. This tenderness had at last been manifested. Con- 
suelo was, of a truth, the pure and heavenly soul which 
seemed formed to find access to that somber and gloomy 
spirit, hitherto closed to all sympathy. There was some- 
thing sweet and touching in the solicitude which a roman- 
tic enthusiasm had first aroused in the young girl, and in 
the respectful friendship which gratitude inspired in 
her since her illness, and which God doubtless knew to be 
peculiarly fitted for Albert’s restoration. It is highly prob- 
able, that if Consuelo, foi’getful of the past, had shared 
the ardor of his passion, transports so new to him, and joy 


CONSUELO. 


321 


so sudden, would have had the- most fatal effects. The dis- 
creet and chastened friendship which she felt for him was 
calculated to have a slower but a more certain effect 
upon his health. It was a restraint as well as a benefit, 
and if there was a sort of intoxication in the renewed heart 
of the young count, there was mingled with it an idea of 
duty and of sacrifice, which gave other employment and 
another object to his will, than those which had hitherto 
consumed him. He therefore experienced, at the same 
time, the happiness of being loved as he had never been 
before, the grief of not being so with the ardor he 
himself felt, and the fear of losing his happiness if he did 
not appear contented with it. This threefold effect of his 
love soon filled his soul so completely as to leave no room 
for the reveries toward which his inaction and solitude had 
so long compelled him to turn. He was delivered from 
them as by the power of enchantment; for they faded from 
his memory and the image of her whom he loved kept his 
enemies at a distance, and seemed placed between them 
and himself like a celestial buckler. 

That repose of spirit and calmness of feeling, which were 
so necessary to the re-establishment of the young patient, 
were hereafter therefore no more than very slightly and 
very rarely troubled by the secret agitations of her phy- 
sician. Like the hero in the fable, Consuelo had descended 
into Tartarus to draw her friend thence, and had brought 
after her horror and frenzy. In his turn, he applied him- 
self to deliver her from the inauspicious guests who had 
followed her, and he succeeded by means of delicate atten- 
tions and passionate respect. They began a new life to- 
gether, resting on each other, not daring to look forward, 
and not feeling courage to plunge back in thought 
into the abyss they had passed through. The future was 
a new abyss, not less mysterious and terrible, which they 
did not venture to fathom. But they calmly enjoyed the 
present, like a season of grace which was granted them by 
Heaven. 


322 


COMUELO. 


CHAPTER LI. 

The other inhabitants of the castle were by no means so 
tranquil. Amelia was furious, and no longer deigned even 
to visit the invalid. She affected not to speak to Albert, 
never turned her eyes toward him, and never answered his 
morning and evening salutationi And the most provok- 
ing part of the affair was, that Albert did not seem to pay 
the least attention to her vexation. 

The canoness, seeing the very evident, and, as it were, 
declared passion of her nephew for the adventuress, had 
not a moments peace. She racked her brains to find 
some means of putting a stop to the danger and scandal, 
and to this end she had long conferences with the chap- 
lain. But the latter did not very earnestly desire the ter- 
mination of such a state of things. He had for a long 
.time past been useless and unnoticed amid the cares of 
the family, but since these new and agitating occurrences, 
his post had recovered a kind of importance, and he could 
at least enjoy the pleasure of spying, revealing, warning, 
predicting, consulting — in a word, moving the domestic 
interests at his will, while he had the air of not interfer- 
ing, and could hide himself from the indignation of the 
young count behind the old aunt’s petticoats. Between 
them both they continually found new subjects of alarm, 
new motives for precaution, but no means of safety. 
Every day the good Wenceslawa approached her nephew 
with a decisive explanation on the tip of her tongue^ and 
every day a mocking smile or a freezing look caused the 
words to miscarry. Every instant she ' watched for an 
opportunity of slipping secretly into Oonsuelo’s chamber, 
in order to administer a skillful and firm reprimand, but 
every, instant Albert, as if warned by a familiar spirit, 
came to place himself upon the threshold of the chamber; 
and, by a single frown, like the Olympian Jupiter, he dis- 
armed the anger, and froze the courage of the divinities 
hostile to his beloved Ilion. Nevertheless, the canoness 
had several times engaged the invalid in conversation, and 
as the moments when she could enjoy a tete-a-tete were 
very rare, she had profited by these occasions to address 
some very absurd reflections to her, which she thought 
exceedingly significant. But Oonsuelo was so far removed 


CONSUELO. 


323 


from the ambition attributed to her, tliat she understood 
nothing of it. Her astonishment and her air of candor 
and confidence immediately disarmed the good canoness, 
who, in all her life, could never resist a frank manner ora 
cordial caress. She hastened in confusion to confess her 
defeat to the chaplain, and the rest of the day was passed 
in planning measures for the morrow. 

In the meantime, Albert, divining this management 
very clearly, and seeing that Consuelo began to be aston- 
ished and uneasy, resolved -to put a stop to it. One morn- 
ing he watched Wenceslawa as she passed, and while she 
thought to elude him by surprising Consuelo alone at that 
early hour, he suddenly appeared just at the moment when 
she was putting her hand to the key in order to enter the 
invalid^s chamber. 

My good aunt,^' said he, seizing her hand and carrying 
it to his lips, I must whisper in your ear something in 
which you are very much interested. It is that the life 
and health of the person who reposes within, are more 
precious to me than my own life and my own happiness. 
I know very well that your confessor has made it a point 
of conscience with you to thwart my devotion toward her, 
and to destroy the effect of my care. Without that, your 
noble heart would never have conceived the idea of endan- 
gering, by bitter words and unjust reproaches, the recovery 
of an invalid hardly yet out of danger. But since the 
fanaticism or bitterness of a priest can perform such prod- 
igies as to transform the most sincere piety and the purest 
charity into blind cruelty, I shall oppose with all my 
power the crime of which my poor aunt consents to be 
made the instrument. I shall watch over my patient 
night and day, and no longer leave her for a moment; and 
if, notwithstanding my zeal, you succeed in carrying her 
away from me, I swear by all that is most sacred to human 
belief, that I will leave the house of my fathers never to 
return. I trust that when you have communicated my 
determination to the chaplain, he will cease tormenting 
you, and combating the generous instincts of your affec- 
tionate heart. 

The amazed canoness could only reply to this discourse 
by melting into tears. Albert had led her to the end of 
the gallery, so that the explanation could not be heard by 
Consuelo. She complained of the threatening tone which 


3‘M 


CONSUELO. 


Albert employed, and endeavored to profit by the occasion, 
to show him the folly of his attachment toward a person of 
such low birth as Nina. 

‘‘Aunt,” replied Albert, smiling, “you forget that if 
we are of the royal blood of the Podiebrads, our ancestors 
were kings only through favor of the peasants and revolted 
soldiery. A Podiebrad, therefore, should not pride him- 
self on his noble origin, but rather regard it as an addi- 
tional motive to attach him to the weak and the poor, 
since it is among them that his strength and power have 
planted their roots, and not so long ago that he can have 
forgotten it.” 

When Wenceslawa related this conference to the chap- 
lain, he gave it as his opinion that it would not be prudent 
to exasperate the young count by’ remonstrances, nor 
drive him to extremity by annoying his protegee. 

“ It is to Count Christian himself that you must address 
your representations,” said he. “Your excessive delicacy 
has too much emboldened the son. Let your wise remon- 
strances at length awaken the disquietude of his father, 
that he may take decisive measures with respect to this 
dangerous person.” 

“ Do you suppose,” replied the canoness, “that I have 
not already done so? But alas! my brother has grown fifteen 
years older during the fifteen days of AlberPs last disap- 
pearance. His mind is so enfeebled that it is no longer 
possible to make him understand any suggestion. He ap- 
pears to indulge in a sort of passive resistance to the idea 
of a new calamity of this description, and rejoices like a 
child at having found his son, and at hearing him reason 
and conduct himself as an intelligent man. He believes 
him cured of his malady, and does not perceive that poor 
Albert is a prey to anew kind of madness, more fatal than 
the first. My brother’s security in this respect is so great, 
and he enjoys it so unaffectedly, that I have not yet found 
courage to open his eyes completely as to what is passing 
around him. It seems to me that this disclosure coming 
from you, and accompanied with your religious exhorta- 
tions, would be listened to with more resignation, have 
a better effect, and be less painful to all parties.” 

“It is too delicate an affair,” replied the chaplain, “ to 
be undertaken by a poor priest like me. It will come 
much better from a sister, and your highness can soften 


CONSUELO. 


325 


the bitterness of the event, by expressions of tenderness 
which I could not venture upon toward the august head 
of the Kudolstadt family/^ 

These two grave personages lost many days in deciding 
upon which should bell the cat. During this period of 
irresolution and apathy, in which habit also had its share, 
love made rapid progress in the heart of Albert. Con- 
suelo’s health was visibly restored, and nothing occurred 
to disturb the progress of an intimacy which the watchful- 
ness of Argus could not have rendered more chaste and 
reserved than it was, simply through true modesty and 
sincere love. 

Meantime the Baroness Amelia, unable to support her 
humiliation, earnestly entreated her father to take her 
back to Prague. Baron Frederick, who preferred a life in 
the forest to an abode in the city, promised every thing 
that she wished, but put off from day today the announce- 
ment and preparations for departure. The baroness saw 
that it was necessary to urge matters on to suit her pur- 
pose, and devised one of those ingenious expedients in 
which her sex are never wanting. She had an under- 
standing with her waiting-maid — a sharp-witted and active 
young Frenchwoman — and one morning, just as her 
father was about to set out for the chase, she begged him 
to accompany her in a carriage to the house of a lady of 
their acquaintance, to whom she had for a long time owed 
a visit. The baron had some difficulty in giving up his 
gun and his powder-horn to change his dress and the em- 
ployment of the day, but he flattered himself that this 
condescension would render Amelia less exacting, and that 
the amusement of the drive would dissipate her ill-humor, 
and enable her to pass a few more days at the Castle of 
the Giants without murmuring. When the good man 
had obtained a respite of a week he fancied he had secured 
the independence of life ; his forethought extended no 
further. He therefore resigned himself to the necessity of 
sending Sapphire and Panther to the kennel, while Attila, 
the hawk, turned upon its perch with a discontented and 
mutinous air, which forced a heavy sigh from its master. 

The baron at last seated himself in the carriage witli his 
daughter, and in three revolutions of the wheel was fast 
asleep. The coachman then received orders from Amelia 
to drive to the nearest post-house. They arrived there 


326 


CONSUELO. 


after two hours of a rapid journey ; and when the baron 
opened his eyes, he found post-horses in his carriage, and 
every thing ready to set out on the road to Prague. 

What means this exclaimed th^ baron; ‘‘where are 
we, and whither are we going? Amelia, my dear child, 
what folly is this? What is the meaning of this caprice, or 
rather this pleasantry with which you amuse yourself?’^ 

To all her father’s questions the young baroness only re- 
plied by repeated bursts of laughter, and by childish ca- 
resses. At length when she saw the postilion mounted, 
and the carriage roll lightly along the highway, she 
assumed a serious air, and in a very decided tone spoke as 
follows: “ My dear papa, do not be uneasy; all our luggage 
is carefully packed. The carriage trunks are filled with 
all that is necessary for our journey. There is nothing 
left at the Castle of the Giants, except your dogs and guns, 
which will be of no use at Prague ; and besides you can 
have them when you wish to send for them. A letter will 
be handed to Uncle Christian at breakfast, which is so ex- 
pressed, as to make him see the necessity of our departure, 
without unnecessarily grieving him, or making him angry 
either with you or me. I must now humbly beg your 
pardon for having deceived you, but it is nearly a month 
since you consented to what I at this moment execute. I 
do not oppose your wishes therefore in returning to Prague; 
I merely chose a time when you did not contemplate it, 
and I would wager that, after all, you are delighted to be 
freed from the annoyance which the quickest preparations 
for departure entail. My position became intolerable, and 
you did not perceive it. Kiss me, dear papa, and do not 
frighten me with those angry looks of yours.” 

In thus speaking, Amelia, as well as her attendant, 
stifled a great inclination to laugh, for the baron never 
had an angry look for any one, much less for his cherished 
daughter. He only rolled his great bewildered eyes, a 
little stupified it must be confessed by surprise. If he ex- 
perienced any annoyance at seeing himself fooled in such 
wise, and any real vexation at leaving his brother and 
sister without bidding them adieu, he was so astonished at 
the turn things had taken, that his uneasiness changed into 
admiration of his daughter’s tact, and he could only ex- 
claim: 

“But how could you arrange every thing, so that I had 


G0N8UEL6. 


327 


tiot the least suspicion? Faith, I little thought when I 
took olf my boots, and sent my horse back to the stable, 
that I was off for Prague, and that I should not dine to- 
day with my brother. It is a strange adventure, and no- 
body will believe me when I tell it. But where have you 
2mt my traveling cap, Amelia? who could sleep in a car- 
riage with this hat glued to one^s ears?” 

‘^Here it is, dear papa,” said the merry girl, presenting 
him with his fur cap, which he instantly placed on his head 
with the utmost satisfaction. 

But my bottle ? you have certainly forgotten it, you 
little wicked one.” 

“ Oh ! certainly not,” she exclaimed, handing him a 
large crystal flask, covered with Kussia leather and mounted 
with silver. filled it myself with the best Hungary 
wine from my aunPs cellar. But you had better taste it 
yourself; I know it is the description you prefer.” 

And my pipe and pouch of Turkish tobacco?” 

Nothing is forgotten,” said Amelia^s maid ; his ex- 
cellency the baron will find every thing packed in the 
carriage. Nothing has been omitted to enable him to pass 
the journey agreeably.” 

“ Well done!” said the baron, filling his pipe, '^but that 
does not clear you of all culpability in this matter, my dear 
Amelia. You will render your father ridiculous, and 
make him the laughing-stock of every one.” 

Dear papa, it is I who seem ridiculous in the eyes of 
the w'orld, when I apparently refuse to marry an amiable 
cousin, who does not even deign to look at me, and who, 
under my very eyes, pays assiduous court to my music mis- 
tress. I have suffered this humiliation long enough, and 
I do not think there are many girls of my rank, my age, 
and my appearance, who would not have resented it more 
seriously. Of one thing I am certain, that there are girls 
who would not have endured what I have done for the last 
eighteen months; but, on the contrary, would have put an 
and to the farce by running off with themselves, if they 
had failed in procuring a partner in their flight. For my 
part I am satisfied to run off with my father ; it is a more 
novel as well as more proper step. What, think you, dear 
papa?” 

Why, I think the deviFs in you,” replied the baron, 
kissing his daughter; and he passed the rest of his journey 


32S 


ComVELO. 


gaily, drinking, eating, and smoking by turns, without 
making any further complaint, or expressing any further 
astonishment. 

This event did not produce the sensation in that family 
at the Castle of the Giants which the little baroness had 
flattered herself it would do. To begin with Count Albert, 
he might have passed a week without noticing the absence 
of the young baroness, and when the canoness informed 
him of it, he merely remarked: ‘"‘This is the only clever 
thing which the clever Amelia has done since she set foot 
here. As to my good uncle, I hope he will soon return 
to us.^'’ 

‘'For my part,” said old Count Christian, “ I regret the 
departure of my brother, because at my age one reckons by 
weeks and days. What is not long for you, Albert, is an 
eternity for me, and I am not so certain as you are of see- 
ing my peaceful and easy-tempered Frederick again. 
Well, it is all Amelia^s doings,” added he, smiling as he 
threw aside the saucy yet cajolijig letter of the young bar- 
oness. “ Women^s spite pardons not. You were not 
formed for each other, my children, and my pleasant 
dreams have vanished.” 

While thus speaking, the old count fixed his eyes upon 
the countenance of his son with a sort of melancholy satis- 
faction, as if anticipating some indication of regret ; but 
he found none, and Albert, tenderly pressing his arm, 
made him understand that he thanked him for relinquish- 
ing a project so contrary to his inclination. 

“ God’s will be done,” ejaculated the old man, “ and 
may your heart, my son, be free. You are now well, 
happy, and contented among us. I can now die in peace, 
and a father’s love will comfort you after our final separa- 
tion.” 

“ Do not speak of separation, dear father,” exclaimed 
the young count, his eyes suddenly filling with tears ; “ I 
cannot bear the idea.” 

The canoness, who began to be affected, received at this 
moment a significant glance from the chaplain, who imme- 
diately rose, and with feigned discretion left the room. 
This was the signal and the order. She thought, not 
without regret and apprehension, that the moment was at 
length come when she must speak, and closing her eyes 
like a person about to leap from the window of a house on 


CONSUELO. 


329 


fire, she thus began — stammering and becoming paler 
than usual: 

Certainly Albert loves his father tenderly, and would 
not willingly inflict on him a mortal blow/’ 

Albert raised his head, and gazed at his aunt with such 
a keen and penetrating look that she could not utter 
another word. Tiie old count appeared not to have heard 
this strange observation, and in the silence which fol- 
lowed, poor Wenceslawa remained trembling beneath her 
nephew’s glance, like a partridge fascinated before the 
pointer. 

But Count Christian, rousing from, his reverie after a 
few minutes, replied to his sister as if she had continued 
to speak, or as if he had read in her mind the revelations 
she was about to make. 

‘‘ Dear sister,” said he, “ if I may give you an advice, it 
is not to torment yourself with things which you do not 
understand. You have never known what it was to love, 
and the austere rules of a canoness are not those which 
befit a young man.” 

“ Good God !” murmured the astonished canoness. 
“Either my brother does not understand me, or his reason 
and piety are about to desert him. Is it possible that in 
his weakness he would encourage or treat lightly ” 

“How? aunt!” interrupted Albert, in a firm tone, and 
with a stern countenance. “ Speak out, since you are 
forced to it. Explain yourself clearly ; there must be an 
end to this constraint — we must understand each other.” 

“No, sister; you need not speak,” replied the count; 
“you have nothing new to tell me. I understand per- 
fectly well, wdthout having seemed to do so, what has been 
going on for some time past. The period is not yet come 
to explain ourselves on that subject; when it does, I shall 
know how to act.” 

He began immediately to speak on other subjects, and 
left the canoness astonished, and Albert hesitating and 
troubled. When the chaplain was informed of the manner 
in which the head of the family received the counsel which 
he had indirectly given him, he was seized with terror. 
Count Christian, although seemingly irresolute and indo- 
lent, had never been a weak man, and sometimes surprised 
those who knew him, by suddenly arousing himself from a 
kind of somnolency, and acting with energy and wisdom, 


330 


C0N8UEL0, 


The priest was afraid of having gone too far, and of being 
reprimanded. He commenced therefore to undo his work 
very quickly, and persuaded the canoness not to interfere 
further. A fortnight glided away in this manner without 
any thing suggesting to Consuelo that she was a subject of 
anxiety to the family. Albert continued his attentions, 
and announced the departure of Amelia as a short absence, 
but did not suffer her to suspect the cause. She began to 
leave her apartment ; and the first time she walked in the 
garden, the old Christian supported the tottering steps of 
the invalid on his weak and trembling arm. 


CHAPTER LIL 

It was indeed a happy day for Albert when he saw her 
whom he had restored to life, leaning on the arm of his 
father, and offer him her hand in the presence of his fam- 
ily, saying, with an ineffable smile, This is he who saved 
me, and tended me as if I had been his sister. 

But this day, which was the climax of his happiness, 
changed suddenly, and more than he could have antici- 
pated, his relations with Consuelo. Henceforth, the for- 
malities of the family circle precluded her being often 
alone with him. The old count, who appeared to have 
even a greater regard for her than before her illness, be- 
stowed the utmost care upon her, with a kind of paternal 
gallantry which she felt deeply. The canoness observed a 
prudent silence, but nevertheless made it a point to watch 
over all her movements, and to form a third party in 
all her interviews with Albert. At length, as the latter 
gave no indication of returning mental alienation, they 
determined to have the pleasure of receiving, and even 
inviting, relations and neighbors long neglected. They 
exhibited a kind of simple and tender ostentation in 
showing how polite and sociable the young Count Rudol- 
stadt had become, and Consuelo seemed to exact from 
him, by her looks and example, the fulfillment of the 
wishes of his relations, in exercising the duties of a hos- 
pitable host, and displaying the manners of a man of the 
world. I 

This sudden transformation cost him a good deal; he 


C0N8UEL0. 


331 


submitted to it, however, to please her he loved, but he 
would have been better satisfied with longer conversations 
and a less interrupted intercourse with her. He patiently 
endured whole days of constraint and annoyance, in order 
to obtain in the evening a word of encouragement or 
gratitude. But when the canoness came, like an un- 
welcome specter, and placed herself between them, he felt 
his soul troubled and his strength abandon him. He 
passed nights of torment, and often approached the cis- 
tern, which remained clear and pellucid since the day he 
had ascended from it, bearing Consuelo in his arms. 
Plunged in mournful reverie, he almost cursed the oath 
which bound him never to return to his hermitage. He 
was terrified to feel himself thus unhappy, and not to have 
the power of burying his grief in his subterranean retreat. 

The change in his features after his sleeplessness, and 
the transitory but gradually more frequent return of his 
gloomy and distracted air, could not fail to excite the ob- 
servation of his relatives and his friend ; but the latter 
found means to disperse these clouds and regain her em- 
pire over him whenever it was threatened. She com- 
menced to sing, and immediately the young count, 
charmed or subdued, was consoled by tears, or animated 
with new enthusiasm. This was an infallible remedy; and 
when he was able to address a few words to her in private, 

Consuelo,” he exclaimed, you know the paths to my 
soul; you possess the power refused to the common herd, 
and possess it more than any other being in this world. 
You speak in language divine; you know how to express 
the most sublime emotions, and communicate the impulses 
of your own inspired soul. Sing always when you see me 
downcast; the words of your songs have but little sense for 
me, they are but the theme, the imperfect indication on 
which the music turns and is developed. I hardly hear 
them; what alone I hear, and what penetrates into my 
very soul, is your voice, your accent, your inspiration. 
Music expresses all that the mind dreams and foresees of 
mystery and grandeur. It is the manifestation of a higher 
order of ideas and sentiments than any to which human 
speech can give expression. It is the revelation of the in- 
finite; and when you sing, I only belong to humanity in 
so far as humanity has drunk in what is divine and eternal 
in the bosom of the Creator. All that your lips refuse of 


332 


CONSUELO. 


consolation and support in the ordinary routine of life — all 
that social tyranny forbids your heart to reveal — your 
songs convey to me a hundredfold. You then respond to 
me with your whole soul, and my soul replies to yours in 
hope and fear, in transports of enthusiasm and rapture. 

Sometimes Albert spoke thus, in Spanish, to Oonsuelo in 
presence of his family; but the evident annoyance which 
the canoness experienced, as well as a sense of propriety, 
prevented the young girl from replying. At length one 
day when they were alone in tlie garden, and he again 
spoke of the pleasure he felt in hearing her sing: 

Since music is a language more complete and more 
persuasive than that of words,” said she, why do you 
not speak thus to me, you who understand it better than I 
do?” 

^^Ido not understand you, Consuelo,” said the young 
count, surprised; I am only a musician in listening to 
you.” 

‘^Do not endeavor to deceive me,” she replied; I 
never but once heard sounds divinely human drawn from 
the violin, and it was by you, Albert, in the grotto of 
the Schreckenstein. I heard you that day before you saw 
me; I discovered your secret; but you must forgive me, and 
allow me again to hear that delightful air, of which I recol- 
lect a few bars, and which revealed to me beauties in music, 
to which I was previously a stranger.” 

Consuelo sang in a low tone a few phrases which she 
recollected indistinctly, but which Albert immediately 
recognized. 

It is a popular hymn,” said he, on some Hussite 
words. The words are by myancester, Hyncko Podiebrad, 
the son of King George, and one of the poets of the coun- 
try. We have an immense number of admirable poems 
by Streye, Simon Lomnicky, and many others, which are 
prohibited by the police. These religious and national 
songs, set to music by the unknown geniuses of Bohemia, 
are not all preserved in the memory of her inhabitants. 
The people retain some of them, however, and Zdenko, 
who has an extraordinary memory and an excellent taste 
for music, knows a great many, which I have collected 
and arranged. They are very beautiful, and you will have 
l)leasure in learning them. But I can only let you hear 
th^m in my hermitage; my violin, with all my music, is 


C0K8UEL0. 


333 


there. I have there precious manuscripts, collections of 
ancient Catholic and Protestant authors. I will wager 
that you do not know either Josquin, many of whose 
themes Luther has transmitted to us in his choruses, nor 
the younger Claude, nor Arcadelt, nor George Rhaw, nor 
Benoit Ducis, nor John de Weiss. Would not this curious 
research induce you, dear Consuelo, to pay another visit 
to my grotto, from which I have been exiled so long a 
time, and to visit my church, which you have not yet 
seen?” 

This proposal, although it excited the curiosity of the 
young artist, was tremblingly listened to. This fright- 
ful grotto recalled recollections which she could not think 
of without a shudder, and in spite of all the confidence 
she placed in him, the idea of returning there alone wdth 
Albert caused a painful emotion, which he quickly per- 
ceived. 

^^You dislike the idea of this pilgrimage,” said he, 
^^which nevertheless you promised to renew; let us speak of 
it no more. Faithful to my oath, I shall never undertake 
it without you.” 

You remind me of mine, Albert,” she replied, and I 
shall fulfill it as soon as you ask it; but, my dear doctor, 
you forget that I have not yet the necessary strength. 
Would you not first permit me to see this curious music, 
and hear this admirable artist, who plays on the violin 
much better than I sing?” 

‘‘I know not if you jest, dear sister, but this I know, 
that you shall hear me nowhere but in my grotto. It was 
there" I first tried to make my violin express the feelings of 
my heart; for, although I had for many years a brilliant 
and frivolous professor, largely paid by my father, I did 
not understand it. It was there I learned what true music 
is, and what a sacrilegious mockery is substituted for it 
by the greater portion of mankind. For my own part, I 
declare that I could not draw a sound from my violin if 
my spirit were not bowed before the divinity. Were I 
even to see you unmoved beside me, attentive merely to 
the composition of the pieces I play, and curious to scru- 
tinize my talent, I doubt not that I w’ould play so ill that 
you would soon weary of listening to me. I have never, 
since I knew how to use it, touched the instrument conse- 
crated by me to the praise of God or to the expression of 


334 


CONSnELO, 


my ardent prayers, without feeling myself transported into 
an ideal world, and without obeying a sort of mysterious 
inspiration not always under my control.” 

I am not unworthy,” replied Consuelo, deeply im- 
pressed, and all attention, to comprehend your feelings 
with regard to music. I hope soon to be able to join your 
prayer with a soul so fervent and collected that my pres- 
ence shall not interfere with your inspiration. Ah, my 
dear Albert, why cannot my master Porpora hear w’hat you 
say of the heavenly art? He would throw himself at your 
feet. Nevertheless, this great artist himself is less severe 
in his views on this subject than you are. He thinks the 
singer and the virtuoso should draw their inspiration from 
the sympathy and admiration of their auditory. 

It is perhaps because Porpora confounds, in music, re- 
ligious sentiment with human thought, and that he looks 
upon sacred music with the eyes of a Catholic. If I were 
in his place I would reason as he does. If I were in a 
communion of faith and sympathy with a people profess- 
ing the same worship as myself, I would seek in contact 
with these souls, animated with a like religious sentiment, 
the inspiration which heretofore I have been forced to 
court in solitude, and which consequently I have hitherto 
imperfectly realized. If ever I have the pleasure of min- 
gling the tones of my violin with those of your divine 
voice, Consuelo, doubtless I would ascend higher than I 
have ever done, and my prayer would be more worthy of 
the Deity. But do not forget, dear child, that up to this 
day my opinions have been an abomination in the eyes of 
those who surrounded me, and that those whom they failed 
to shock, would have turned them into ridicule. This is 
why I have hidden, as a secret between Cod, poor Zdenko, 
and myself, the humble gift which I possess. My father 
likes music, and would have this instrument, which 
is sacred to me as the cymbals of the Elusinian mys- 
teries, conduce to his amusement. What would become 
of me if they were to ask me to accompany a cavatina 
for Amelia ? and what would be my father’s feelings 
if I were to play one of those old Hussite airs which have 
sent so many Bohemians into the mines or to the scaffold? 
or a more modern hymn of our Lutheran ancestors, from 
whom he blushes to have descended? Alas! Consuelo, I 
know nothing more modern. There are, no doubt, admir- 


CONSUSILO. 


335 . 

able things of a later date. From what you tell me of 
Handel and the other great masters from whose works you 
have been instructed, their music would seem to me super- 
ior in many respects to that which I am about to teach 
you. But to know and learn this music, it would be neceS’ 
sary to put myself in relation with another musical world, 
and it is with you alone that I can resolve to do so — with 
you alone I can seek the despised or neglected treasures 
which you are about to bestow on me in overflowing 
measure.” 

And I,” said Oonsnelo, smiling, think I shall not 
undertake the charge of this education. What I heard in 
the grotto was so beautiful, so grand, so incomparable, 
that I should fear, in doing so, only to muddy a spring of 
crystal. Oli! Albert, 1 see plainly that you know ijiore of 
music than I do. And now what will you say to the pro- 
fane music of which I am forced to be a professor? I fear 
to discover in this case’, as in the other, that I have hitherto 
been beneath my mission, and guilty of equal ignorance 
and frivolity.” 

Far from thinking so, Consuelo, I look upon your pro- 
fession as sacred ; and as it is the loftiest which a woman 
can embrace, so is your soul the most worthy to fill such 
an office.” 

^^Stay! — stay! — dear count,” replied Consuelo, smiling. 
^'From'my often speaking to you of the convent where I 
learned music, and the church where I sung the praises of 
God, you conclude that I was destined to the service of 
the altar, or the modest teachings of the cloister. But if 
I should inform you that the zingarella, faithful to her 
origin, was from infancy the sport of circumstances, and 
that her education was at once a mixture of religious and 
profane, to which her will was equally inclined, careless 
whether it were in the monastery or the theater ” 

Certain that God has placed his seal on your forehead 
and devoted you to holiness from your mother’s womb, I 
should not trouble myself about these things, but retain 
the conviction that you would be as pure in the theater 
as in the cloister.” 

What! would not your strict ideas of morality be 
shocked at being brought in contact with an actress?” 

In the dawn of religion,” said he, the theater and 
the temple were one and the same sanctuary. In the 


CONBtlELO. 


m 

purity of their primitive ideas, religious worship took the 
form of popular shows. The arts have their birth at the 
foot of the altar, the dance itself, that art now conse- 
crated to ideas of impure voluptuousness, was the music 
of the senses in the festivals of the gods. Music and 
poetry were the highest expressions of faith, and a woman 
endowed with genius and beauty was at once a sibyl and 
priestess. To these severely grand forms of the past, 
absurd and culpable distinctions succeeded. Eeligion pro- 
scribed beauty from its festivals, and woman from its 
solemnities. Instead of ennobling and directing love, it 
banished and condemned it. Beauty, woman, love, can- 
not lose their empire. Men have raised for themselves 
other temples which they call theaters, and where no other 
god presides. Is it your fault, Consuelo, if they have 
become dens of corruption? Mature, who perfects her 
prodigies without troubling herself as to how men may 
receive them, has formed you to shine among your sex, 
and to shed over the world the treasures of your power 
and genius. The cloister and the tomb are synonymous ; 
you cannot, without morally committing suicide, bury the 
gifts of Providence. You were obliged to wing your flight 
to a freer atmosphere. Energy is the condition of certain 
natures ; an irresistible impulse impels them ; and the 
decrees of the Deity in this respect are so decided, that he 
takes away the faculties which he has bestowed, so soon as 
they are neglected. The artist perishes and becomes ex- 
.tinct in obscurity, just as the thinker wanders and pines 
in solitude, and just as all human intellect is deteriorated, 
and weakened, and enervated, by inaction and isolation. 
Eepair to the theater, Consuelo, if you please, and submit 
with resignation to the apparent degradation, as the rep- 
resentative for the moment of a soul destined to suffer, of 
a lofty mind which vainly seeks for sympathy in the world 
around us, but which is forced to abjure a melancholy 
that is not the element of its life, and out of which the 
breath of tlie Holy Spirit imperiously expels it.” 

Albert continued to speak in this strain for a consider- 
able time with great animation, hurrying Consuelo on to 
the recesses of his retreat. He had little difficulty in com- 
municating to her his own enthusiasm for art, or in 
making her forget her first feeling of repugnance to re- 
enter the grotto. When she saw that he anxiously desired 
it, she began to entertain a wish for this interview, in 


CONSUELO. 


337 


order to become better acquainted with tlie ideas wbicli 
this ardent yet timid man dared to express before her so 
boldly. These ideas were new to Consiielo, and perhaps 
they were entirely so in the mouth of a person of noble 
rank of that time and country, lliey only struck her, 
however, as the bold and frank expression of sentiments 
which she herself had frequently experienced in all their 
force. Devout, and an actress, she every day heard the 
canoness and the chaplain unceasingly condemn her 
brethren of the stage. In seeing herself restored to her 
proper sphere by a serious and reflecting man, slie felt her 
heart throb and her bosom swell with exultation, as if she 
had been carried up into a more elevated and more con- 
genial life. Her eyes were moistened with tears and her 
cheeks glowed with a pure and holy emotion, when at the 
end of an avenue she perceived the canoness, who was 
seeking her. 

‘^Ah! dear priestess,” said Albert, pressing her arm 
again his breast, will you not come to pray in my 
church?” 

Yes, certainly I shall go,” she replied. 

And when?” 

Whenever you wish. Do you think I am able yet to 
undertake this new exploit?” 

Yes; because we shall go to the Schreckenstein in 
broad daylight and by a less dangerous route than the 
well. Do you feel sufficient courage to rise before the 
dawn and to escape through the gates as soon as they are 
opened? I shall be in this underwood which you see at 
the side of the hill there, by the stone cross, and shall 
serve as your guide.” 

Very well, I promise,” replied Consuelo, not without a 
slight palpitation of heart. 

‘^It appears rather cool this evening for so long a walk 
— does it not?” asked the canoness, accosting them in her 
calm. yet searching manner. 

Albert made no reply. He could not dissemble. Con- 
suelo, who did not experience equal emotion, passed her 
other arm within that of the canoness, and kissed her 
neck. Wenceslawa vainly pretended indifference, but in 
spite of herself she submitted to the ascendancy of this 
devout and affectionate spirit. She sighed, and on enter- 
ing the castle proceeded to put up a prayer for her 
conversion, 


338 


CONSUELO. 


CHAPTEK LIIL 

MA]srY days passed away however without AlberPs wish 
being accomplished. ’ It was in vain that Oonsuelo rose 
before the dawn and passed the drawbridge; she always 
found his aunt or the chaplain wandering on the esplanade, 
and from thence reconnoitering all the open country which 
she must traverse in order to gain the copse wood on the 
hill. She determined to walk alone within range of their 
observation, and give up the project of joining Albert, 
who, from his green and wooded retreat, recognized the 
enemy on the look-out, took a long walk in the forest 
glades, and re-entered the castle without being perceived. 

•^You have had an opportunity of enjoying an early 
walk, Signora Porporina,^’ said the canoness at breakfast. 

Were you not afraid that the dampness of the morning 
might be injurious to your health?"' 

It was I, aunt, who advised the signora to breathe the 
freshness of the morning air; and I think these walks will 
be very useful to her.” 

I should have thought that, for a person who devotes 
herself to the cultivation of the voice,” said the canoness, 
with a little affectation, “ our mornings are somewhat 
foggy. But if it is under your direction ” 

Have confidence in Albert,” interrupted Count 
Christian, he has proved himself as good a physician as 
he is a good son and a faithful friend.” 

The dissimulation to which Consuelo was forced to 
yield with blushes, was very painful to her. She com- 
plained gently to Albert when she had an opportunity of 
speaking to him in private, and begged him to renounce 
his project, at least until his aunt's vigilance should be 
foiled. Albert consented, but entreated her to continue 
her walks in the environs of the park, so that he might 
join her whenever an opportunity presented itself. 

Consuelo would gladly have been excused, although she 
liked walking, and felt how necessary to her convalescence 
it was, to enjoy exercise for some time every day, free from 
the restraint of this enclosure of walls and moats, where 
her thoughts were stifled as if she had been a prisoner; 
yet it gave her pain thus to practice deception toward 
those whom she respected, and from whom she received 


CONSUBLO, 


339 


hospitality. Love, however, removes many obstacles, but 
friendship reflects, and Consuelo reflected much. They 
were now enjoying the last fine days of summer; for 
several months had already passed since Consuelo had come 
to dwell in the Castle of the Giants. What a summer for 
Consuelo! The palest autumn of Italy was more light, and 
rich, and genial But this warm, moist air, this sky, 
often veiled by white and fleecy clouds, had also their 
charm and their peculiar beauty. She found an attraction 
in these solitary walks, which increased perhaps her 
disinclination to revisit the cavern. In spite of the reso- 
lution she had formed, she felt that Albert would have 
taken a load from her bosom in giving her back her 
promise; and when she found herself no longer under the 
spell of his supplicating looks and enthusiastic words, she 
secretly blessed his good aunt, who prevented her fulfilling 
her engagement by the obstacles she every day placed in 
the way. 

One morning, as she wandered along the bank of the 
mountain streamlet, she observed Albert leaning on the 
balustrade of the parterre, far above her. Notwithstand- 
ing the distance which separated them, she felt as if 
incessantly under the disturbed and passionate gaze of 
this man, by whom she sutfered herself in so great a degree 
to be governed. ^^My situation here is somewhat 
strange!” she exclaimed; While this persevering friend 
observes me to see that I am faithful to the promise I have 
made, without doubt I am watched from some other part 
of the castle, to see that I maintain no relations with him 
that their customs and ideas of propriety would proscribe. 
I do not know what is passing in their minds. The 
Baroness Amelia does not return. The canoness appears 
to grow cold toward me, and to distrust me. Count 
Christian redoubles his attentions, and expresses his 
dread of the arrival of Porpora, which will pro- 
bably be the signal for my departure. Albert appears 
to have forgotten that I forbade him to hope. As if 
he had a right to expect every thing from me, he asks 
nothing, and does not abjure a passion wLich seems, not- 
withstanding my inability to return it, to render him 
happy. In the meantime, here I am, as if I were engaged 
in attending every morning at an appointed place of meet- 
ing, to which I wish he may not come, exposing myself to 


340 


C0N8UEL0. 


the blame — nay, for aught I know, perhaps to the scorn — 
of a family who cannot understand either my friendship 
for him nor my position toward him; since indeed I do 
not comprehend them myself nor foresee their result. What 
a strange destiny is mine! Shall I then be condemned 
forever to devote myself to others, without being loved in 
return, or without being able to love those whom I 
esteem V* 

In the midst of these reflections a profound melancholy 
seized her. She felt the necessity of belonging to herself 
— that sovereign and legitimate want, the necessary con- 
dition of progress and development of the true artist. The 
watchful care which she had promised to observe toward 
Count Albert, weighed upon her as an iron chain. The 
bitter recollections of Anzoleto and of Venice clung to her 
in the inaction and solitude of a life too monotonous and 
regular for her powerful organization. 

She stopped near the rock which Albert had often 
shown her as being the place where he had first seen her, 
an infant, tied with thongs on her mother’s shoulders like 
the pedlar’s pack, and running over mountains and val- 
leys, like the grasshopper of the fable, heedless of the mor- 
row, and without a thought of advancing old age, and in- 
exorable poverty. ‘^0, my poor mother!” thought the 
young zingarella, here am I, brought back by my incom- 
prehensible fate to a spot which you once traversed only to 
retain a vague recollection of it and the pledge of a touch- 
ing kindness. You were then young and handsome, and 
doubtless could have met many a place where love and 
hospitality would have awaited you — society which would 
have absolved and transformed you, and in the bosom of 
which your painful and wandering life would have at last 
tasted comfort and repose. But you felt, and always said, 
that this comfort, this repose, were mortal weariness to the 
artist’s soul. You were right — I feel it; for behold me in 
this castle, where, as elsewhere, you would pause but one 
night. Here I am, with every comfort around me, pam- 
pered, caressed, and with a powerful lord at my feet ; and 
nevertheless I am weary, weary, and suffocated ‘ with re- 
straint.” 

Consuelo, overpowered with an extraordinary emotion, 
seated herself on the rock. She looked at the sandy path, as if 
she thought to find there the prints of her mother’s naked 


CONSUELO. U1 

feet. The sheep in passin.^ had left some locks of their 
fleece upon tlie thorns. This fleece, of a reddish brown, 
recalled the russet hue of her mother’s coarse mantle — 
that mantle which had so long protected her against sun 
and cold, against dust and rain. " She had seen it fall from 
her shoulders piece by piece. ^^And we, too,” she said, 
“ WQVQ wandering sheep; we, too, left fragments of our ap- 
parel on the wayside thorn, but we always bore with us the 
proud love and full enjoyment of our dear liberty.” 

While musing thus, Oonsuelo fixed her eyes upon the 
path of yellow sand which wound gracefully over the hill, 
and which, widening as it reached the valley, disappeared 
toward the north among the green pine trees and the dark 
heath. ‘MVhat is more beautiful than a road?” she 
thought. It is the symbol and image of a life of activity 
and variety. What pleasing ideas are connected in my 
mind with the capricious turns of this! I do not recollect 
the country through which it winds, and yet I have for- 
merly passed through it. But it should indeed be beauti- 
ful, were it only as a contrast to yonder dark castle, which 
sleeps eternally on its immovable rocks. How much pleas- 
anter to the eye are these graveled paths, with their glow- 
ing hues and the golden broom which shadow them, than 
the straight alleys and stiff palings of the proud domain? 
AYith merely looking at the formal lines of a garden, I feel 
wearied and overcome. Why should my feet seek to reach 
that which my eyes and thoughts can at once embrace, 
while the free road, wliich turns aside and is half hidden 
in the woods, invites me to follow its windings, and pene- 
trate its m 3 ^steries? And then it is the path for all human 
kind — it is the highway of the world. It belongs to no 
master, to close and open it at pleasure. It is not only the 
powerful and rich that are entitled to tread its flowery 
margins and to breathe its rich perfume. Every bird may 
build its nest amid its branches ; every wanderer may re- 
pose his head upon its stones — nor w'all nor paling shuts 
out his horizon. Heaven does not close before him; so far 
as his eye can reach, the highway is a land of libert}^ To 
the right, to the left, woods, fields — all have masters; but 
the road belongs to him to whom nothing else belongs, 
and how fondly therefore does he love it! The meanest 
beggar prefers it to asylums, which, were they rich as pal- 
aces, would be but prisons to him. His dream, his pas- 


342 


COmtlMLO. 


sioii, his hope will ever be the highway. 0, my mother, 
you knew it well, and often told me so! Why can I not 
reanimate your ashes which repose far from me, beneath 
the seaweed of the lagunes? Why canst thou not carry me 
on thy strong shoulders, and bear me far, far away, where 
the swallow skims onward to the blue and distant hills, 
and where the memory of the past and the longing after 
vanished happiness cannot follow the light-footed artist, 
who travels still faster than they do, and each day places a 
new horizon, a second world, between her and the enemies 
of liberty? My poor mother, why canst thou not still by 
turns cherish and oppress me, and lavish alternate kisses 
and blows, like the wind which sometimes caresses and 
sometimes lays prostrate the young corn upon the fields, to 
raise and cast it down again according to its fantasy? Thou 
hadst a firmer soul than mine, and thou wouldst have torn 
me, either willingly or by force, from the bonds which 
daily entangle me.” 

In the midst of this entrancing yet mournful reverie, 
Consuelo was struck by the tones of a voice that made her 
start as if a red-hot iron had been placed upon her heart. 
It was that of a man from the ravine below, humming in 
the Venetian dialect the song of the Bcho/^ one of the 
most original compositions of Chiozzetto.* The person 
who sung did not exert the full power of his voice, and his 
breathing seemed affected by walking. He warbled a few 
notes now and then, stopping from time to time to con- 
verse with another person, just as if he had wished to dis- 
sipate the weariness of his journey. He then resumed his 
song as before, as if by way of exercise, interrupted it 
again to speak to his companion, and in this manner 
approached the spot where Consuelo sat, motionless, and 
as if about to faint. She could not hear the conversation 
which took place, as the distance was too great; nor could 
she see the travelers in consequence of an intervening pro- 
jection of the rock. But could she be for an instant 
deceived in that voice, in those accents, which she knew 
so well, and the fragrants of that song which she herself 
had taught, and so often made her graceless pupil repeat ? 

At length the two invisible travelers drew near, and she 
heard one whose voice was unknown to her say to the 


Jean Croce de Chioggio, sixteentli century. 


CONSUELO. 


343 


other, in bad Italian, and with the patois of the country. 

Ah, signor, do not go up there — the horses could not 
follow you, and you would lose sight of me; keep by the x 
banks of the stream. See, the road lies before us, and the 
way you are taking is only a path for foot passengers.^’ 

The voice which Oonsuelo knew became more distant, 
and appeared to descend, and soon she heard him ask 
what fine castle that was on the other side. 

^‘That is Eiesenburg, which means the Castle of the 
Giants replied the guide, for he was one by profession, 
and Oonsuelo could now distinguish him at the bottom of 
the hill, on foot and leading two horses covered with 
sweat. The bad state of the roads, recently inundated by 
the torrent, had obliged the riders to dismount. The 
traveler followed at a little distance, and Oonsuelo could 
at length see him by leaning over the rock which protected 
her. His back was toward her, and he wore a traveling- 
dress, which so altered his appearance and even his walk, 
that had she not heard his voice she could not have recog- 
nized him. He stopped, however, to look at the castle, 
and taking off his broad -leafed hat, wiped his face with his 
handkerchief. Although only able to distinguish him im- 
perfectly from the great height at which she was placed, 
she knew at once those golden and fiowing locks, and 
recognized the movement he was accustomed to make in 
raising them from his forehead or neck when, he was 
warm. 

This seems a very fine castle,” said he. If I had 
time I should like to ask the giants for some breakfast.” 

Oh, do not attempt it,” said the guide, shaking his 
head. ^^The Kudolstadts only receive beggars and rela- 
tions.” 

^^Are they not more hospitable than that? May the 
devil seize them then !” 

‘^Listen — it is because they have something to conceal.” 

^^A treasure or a crime ?” 

^^Oh, nothing of that kind; it is their son, who is 
mad.” 

Deuce take him too, then; it would do them a service.” 

The guide began to laugh; Anzoleto commenced to sing. 

Come,” said the guide, ‘‘ we are now over the worst of 
the road; if you wish to mount we may gallop as far as 
Tusta. The road is magnificent — nothing but sand. 


344 


CONSUELO. 


Once there, you will find the highway to Prague, and 
excellent post-horses/^ 

In that case,” said Anzoleto, adjusting his stirrups, 

may say the fiend seize thee too! for your jades, your 
mountain roads, and yourself, are all becoming very tire- 
some.” 

Thus speaking, he slowly mounted his nag, sunk the 
spurs in its side, and without troubling himself about the 
guide, who followed him with great difficulty, he darted 
olf toward the north, raising great clouds of dust on that 
road which Consuelo had so long contemplated, and on 
which she had so little expected to see pass, like a fatal 
vision, the enemy of her life, the constant torture of her 
heart. She followed him with her eyes, in a state of 
stupor impossible to express. Struck with disgust and 
fear, so long as she was within hearing of his voice, she 
had remained hidden and trembling. But when he dis- 
appeared, when she thought she had lost sight of him per- 
haps forever, she experienced only violent despair. She 
threw herself over the rock to see him for a longer time ; 
the undying love which she cherished for him. awoke 
again with fervor, and she would have recalled him, but 
her voice died on her lips. The hand of death seemed to 
press heavily on her bosom ; her eyes grew dim ; a dull 
noise, like the dashing of the sea, murmured in her ears ; 
and falling exhausted at the foot of the rock, she found 
herself in the arms of Albert, wllo had approached with- 
out being perceived, and who bore her, apparently dying, 
to a more shady and secluded part of the mountain. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

The fear of betraying by her emotion a secret so long 
hidden in the depths of her soul, restored Consuelo to 
strength, and enabled her to control herself, so that Albert 
perceived nothing extraordinary in her situation. Just as 
the young count received her in his arms, pale and ready 
to swoon, Anzoleto and his guide disappeared among the 
distant -pine-trees, and Albert might therefore attribute 
to his own presence the danger she had incurred of fall- 
ing down the precipice. The idea of this dangei', of 


C0N8UEL0. 


345 


which he supposed himself to be the cause in terrifying 
her by his sudden approach so distressed him, that he 
did not at first perceive Consuelo^s confused replies. 
Consuelo, in whom he still inspired at times a kind of super- 
stitious terror, feared that he might divine the mystery. 
But Albert, since love had made him live the life of other 
men, seemed to have lost the apparently supernatural 
faculties which he had formerly possessed. She soon con- 
quered her agitation, and Albertis proposal to conduct her 
to his hermitage did not displease her at this moment as it 
would have done a few hours previously. It seemed as if 
the grave and serious character and gloomy abode of this 
man, who regarded her with such devoted affection, offered 
themselves as a refuge in which she could find strength to 
combat the memory of her unhappy passion. ‘‘It is 
Providence,^^ thought she, “who has sent me this friend 
in the midst of my trials, and the dark sanctuary to which 
he would lead me, is an emblem of the tomb in which I 
should wish to be buried, rather than pursue the track of 
the evil genius who has just passed me. Oh ! yes, my 
God, rather than follow his footsteps, let the earth open 
to receive me, and snatch me forever from the living 
world !” 

“Deiir Consolation/’ said Albert, “I came to tell you 
that my aunt, having to examine her accounts this morn- 
ing, is not thinking of us, and we are at length at liberty 
to accomplish our pilgrimage. Nevertheless, if you still 
feel any repugnance to revisit places which recall so much 
suffering and terror ” 

“No, my friend,” replied Consuelo; “on the contrary, 
I have never felt better disposed to worship with you, and 
to soar aloft together on the wings of that sacred song 
which you promised to let me hear.” 

They took the way together toward the Schreckenstein, 
and as they buried themselves in the wood in an opposite 
direction to that taken by Anzoleto, Consuelo felt more at 
ease, as if each step tended to undo the charm of ’which 
she had felt the force. She walked on so eagerly, that, al- 
though grave and reserved. Count Albert might have 
ascribed her anxiety to a desire to please, if he had not 
felt that distrust of himself and of his destiny, which 
formed the principal feature of his character. 

He conducted her to the foot of the Schreckenstein, and 


346 


CONSUELO, 


stopped at the entrance of a grotto filled with stagnant 
water, and nearly hidden by the luxuriant vegetation. 

This grotto, in which you may remark some traces of a 
vaulted construction,’’ said he, ‘^is called in the country 
" The Monk’s Cave.’ Some think it was a cellar of a con- 
vent, at a period when, in place of these ruins, there stood 
here a fortified town; others relate that it was subsequently 
the retreat of a repentant criminal, who turned hermit. 
However this may be, no one dares to penetrate the re- 
cesses; and every one says that the water is deep, and is 
imbued with a mortal poison, owing to the veins of copper 
through which it runs in its passage. But this water is 
really neither deep nor dangerous ; it sleeps upon a bed of 
rocks, and we can easily cross it, Oonsuelo, if you will once 
again confide in the strength of my arm and the purity of 
my love.” 

Thus saying, after having satisfied himself that no one 
had followed or observed them, he took her in his arms, 
and entering the water, which reached almost to his knee, 
he cleared a passage through the shrubs and malted ivy 
which concealed the bottom of the grotto. In a very short 
time he set her down upon a bank of fine dry sand, in a 
place completely dark. He immediately lighted the lantern 
with which he was furnished, and after some turns in sub- 
terranean galleries similar to those which Oonsuelo had 
already traversed, they found themselves at the door of a 
cell, opposite to that which she had opened the first time. 

^‘This subterranean building,” said he, was originally 
destined to serve as a refuge in time of war, either for the 
principal inhabitants of the town which covered the hill, 
or for the lords of the Castle of the Giants, to whom this 
town belonged, who could enter it secretly by the passages 
with which yoa are already acquainted. If a hermit, as 
they assert, since inhabited the monk’s cave, it is probable 
that he was aware of this retreat ; because the gallery 
which we have just traversed, has been recently cleared 
out, while I have found those leading from the castle so 
filled up in many places with earth and gravel that I found 
difficulty in removing them. Besides, the relics I dis- 
covered here, the remnants of matting, the pitcher, the 
crucifix, the lamp, and above all the skeleton of a man 
lying on his back, his hands crossed on his breast, as if in 
a last prayer at tlie hour of his final sleep, proved to me 


G0N8UEL0. 


347 

that a hermit had here piously and peaceably ended his 
mysterious existence. Our peasants still believe that the 
hermit’s spirit inhabits the depths of the mountain. They 
affirm that they have often seen him wander around it, or 
flit to the heights by the light of the moon; that they have 
heard him pray, sigh, sob, and that even a strange incom- 
prehensible music has been wafted toward them, like a 
suppressed sigh, on the wings of the breeze. Even I my- 
self, Consuelo, when despair peopled nature around me 
with phantoms and prodigies, have thought I saw the 
gloomy penitent prostrate under the Hussite. I have fan- 
cied that I heard his plaintive sobs and heartrending 
sighs ascend from the depths of the abyss. But since I 
discovered and inhabited this cell, I have never seen any 
hermit but myself — any specter but my own figure — nor 
have I heard any sobs save those which issued from my 
own breast.” 

Since Consuelo’s flrst interview with Albert in the 
cavern, she had never heard him utter an irrational word. 
She did not venture, therefore, to allude to the manner in 
which he had addressed herself, nor to the illusions in the 
midst of which she had surprised him.. But she was 
astonished to observe that they seemed absolutely forgot- 
ten, and not wishing to recall then, she merely asked if 
solitude had really delivered him from the disquietude of 
which he spoke. 

‘‘1 cannot tell you precisely,” he replied; ''and, at least 
not until you exact it, can I urge my memory to the task. 
I must have been mad, and the efforts I made to conceal 
it, betrayed it yet more. When, thanks to one to whom 
tradition had handed down the secret of these caverns, I 
succeeded in escaping from the solicitude of my relatives 
and hiding my despair, my existence changed. I recov- 
ered a sort of empire over myself, and, secure of conceal- 
ment from troublesome witnesses, I was able at length to 
appear tranquil and resigned in the bosom of my family.” 

Consuelo perceived that poor Albert was under an illu- 
sion in some respects, but this was not the time to en- 
lighten him; and, pleased to hear him speak of the past 
with such unconcern, she began to examine the cell with 
more attention than she had bestowed on it the first time. 
There was no appearance of the care and neatness which 
she formerly observed. Tlie dampness of the walls, the 


m 


GONSUBLO. 


cold of the atmosphere, and the moldiness of the books, 
betrayed complete abandonment. Yon see that I have 
kept my word,^^ said Albert, who had just succeeded with 
great difficulty in lighting the stove. I have never set 
foot here since the day you displayed your power over me 
by tearing me away."” 

Consuelo had a question on her lips, but restrained her- 
self. She was about to ask if Zdenko, the friend, the 
faithful servant, the zealous guardian, had also abandoned 
and neglected the hermitage. But she recollected the pro- 
found sorrow which Albert always displayed when she haz- 
arded a question as to what had become of him, and why 
she had never seen him since the terrible encounter in the 
cavern? Albert had always evaded tliese questions, either 
by pretending not to understand her, or by begging her to 
fear nothing for the innocent. She was at first persuaded 
that Zdenko had received and faithfully fulfilled the com- 
mand of his master never to appear before his eyes. But 
when she resumed her solitary walks, Albert, in order to 
completely reassure her, had sworn, while a deadly 
paleness overspread his countenance, that she should not 
encounter Zdenko, who had set out on a long voyage. In 
fact no one had seen him since that time, and they thought 
he was dead in some corner, or that he had quitted the 
country. 

Consuelo believed neither of these suppositions. She 
knew too well the passionate attachment of Zdenko to 
Albert to think a separation possible. As to his death, 
she thought of it with a terror she hardly admitted to her- 
self, when she recollected Albert’s di’eadful oath to sacri- 
fice the life of this unhappy being if necessary to the 
repose of her he loved. But she rejected this frightful 
suspicion on recalling the mildness and humanity which 
the whole of Alberts life displayed. Besides he had enjoyed 
perfect tranquility for many months, and no apparent 
demonstration on the part of Zdenko had reawakened the 
fury which the young count had for a moment manifested. 
He had forgotten that unhappy moment which Consuelo 
also struggled to forget ; he only remembered what took 
place in the cavern while he was in possession of his rea- 
son. Consuelo therefore concluded that he had forbidden 
Zdenko to enter or approach the castle, and that the poor 
fellow, through grief or anger, had condemned himself to 


(JONSUELO, 


349 


voluntary seclusion in the hermitage. She took it for 
granted that Zdenko would come out on the Schrecken- 
stein only by night for air, and to converse with Albert, 
who no doubt took care of, and watched over him who had 
for so long a time taken care of himself. On seeing the 
condition of the cell, Oonsuelo was driven to the conclu- 
sion that he was angry at his master, and had displayed it 
by neglecting his retreat. But as Albert had assured her 
when they entered the grotto, that there was contained in 
it no cause of alarm, she seized the opportunity when his 
attention was otherwise engaged, to open the rusty gate of 
what he called his church, and in this way to reach 
Zdenko’s cell, where doubtless she would find traces of his 
recent presence. The door yielded aS* soon as she had 
turned the key, but the darkness was so great that she 
could see nothing. She waited till Albert had passed into 
the mysterious oratory which he had promised to show her, 
and which he was preparing for her reception, and she 
then took a light and returned cautiously to Zdenko’s 
chamber, not without trembling at the idea of finding him 
there in person. But there was not the faintest evidence 
of his existence. The bed of leaves and the sheep-skins 
had been removed. The seat, the tools, the saiidals of 
undressed hide — all had disappeared, and one would have 
said, to look at the dripping walls, that this vault had 
never sheltered a living being. 

A feeling of sadness and terror took possession of her 
at this discovery. A mystery shrouded the fate of this 
unfortunate, and Oonsuelo accused herself of being perhaps 
the cause of a deplorable event. There were two natures 
in Albert: the one wise, the other mad ; the one polished, 
tender, merciful; the other strange, untamed, perhaps vio- 
lent and implacable. His fancied identity with the fanatic 
John Ziska, his love for the recollections of Hussite Bohe- 
mia, and that mute and patient, but at the same time pro- 
found passion which he nourished for herself — all occurred 
at this moment to her mind, and seemed to confirm her 
most painful suspicions. Motionless and frozen with hor- 
ror, she hardly ventured to glance at the cold and naked 
floor of the grotto, dreading to find on it tracks of blood. 

She was still plunged in these reflections, when she 
heard Albert tune his violin, and soon she heard him play- 
ing on the admirable instrument the ancient psalm which 


CONSUELO, 


350 

she so much wished to hear a second time. The music 
was so original, and Albert performed it with such sweet 
expression, that, forgetting her distress, and attracted and 
as if charmed by magnetic power, she geiit-ly approached 
the spot where he stood. 


CHAPTER LV. ■ 

The door of the church was open, and Oonsuelo stopped 
upon the threshold to observe the inspired virtuoso and 
the strange sanctuary. This so-called cliurcli was nothing 
but an immense grotto, hewn, or rather cleft out of the 
rock irregularly by the hand of nature, and hollowed out 
by the subterranean force of the water. Scattered torches, 
placed on gigantic blocks, shed a fantastic light on the 
green sides of the cavern, and partially revealed dark re- 
cesses, in the depths of which the huge forms of tall stalac- 
tites loomed like specters alternately seeking and shunning 
the light. The enormous sedimentary deposits on the 
sides of the cavern assumed a thousand fantastic forms. 
Sometimes they seemed devouring serpents, rolling over 
and interlacing each other. Sometimes hanging from the 
roof and shooting upward from the floor, they wore the 
aspect of the collossal teeth of some monster, of which the 
dark cave beyond might pass for the gaping jaws. Else- 
where they might have been taken for mis-shapen statues, 
giant images of the demi gods of antiquity. A vegetation 
appropriate to the grotto — huge lichens, rough as dragon^s 
scales; festoons of heavy-leaved scolopendra, tufts of young 
cypresses recently planted in the middle of the inclosure 
on little heaps of artiflcial soil, not unlike graves — gave the 
place a terrific and somber aspect which deeply impressed 
Oonsuelo. To her first feeling of terror, admiration how- 
ever quickly succeeded. She approached and saw Albert 
standing on the margin of the fountain which sprung up 
in the midst of the cavern. This water, although gushing 
up abundantly, was inclosed in so deep a basin that no 
movement was visible on its surface. It was calm and 
motionless as a block of dark sapphire, and the beautiful 
aquatic plants with which Albert and Zdenko had 
clothed its margin, were not agitated by the slightest mo- 


G0N8UEL0, 


351 


tion. The spring was warm at its source, and the tepid 
exhalations with which it filled the cavern caused a mild 
and moist atmosphere favorable to vegetation. It gushed 
from its fountain in many ramifications, of which some 
lost themselves under the rocks with a dull noise, wliile 
others ran gently into limpid streams in the interior of the 
grotto and disappeared in the depths beyond. 

When Count Albert, who until then had been only try- 
ing the strings of his violin, saw Consuelo advance toward 
him, he came forward to meet her, and assisted her to 
cross the channels, over which he had thrown, in the 
deepest spots, some trunks of trees, while in other places 
rocks, on a level with the water, offered an easy passage to 
those habituated to it. He offered his hand to assist her, 
and sometimes lifted her in his arms. But this time Oon- 
suelo was afraid, not of the torrent which flowed silently 
and darkly under her feet, but of the mysterious guide to- 
ward whom she was drawn by an irresistible sympathy, 
while an indeflnable repulsion at the same time held her 
back. Having reached the bank she beheld a spectacle 
not much calculated to reassure her. It was a sort of 
quadrangular monument, formed of bones and human 
skulls, arranged as if in a catacomb. 

Do not be uneasy,^^ said Albert, who felt her shudder. 

These are the honored remains of the martyrs of my re- 
ligion; and they form the altar before which I love to medi- 
tate and pray.” 

^MVhat is your religion then, Albert?” said Consuelo, 
in a sweet and melancholy voice. “Are these bones Hus- 
site or Catholic? Were not both the victims of impious 
fury, and martyrs of a faith equally sincere ? Is it true 
that you prefer the Hussite doctrines to those of your 
relatives, and that the reforms subsequent to those of 
John Huss do not appear to you sufficiently radical and 
decisive? Speak, Albert — what am I to believe?” 

“ If they told you that I preferred the reform of the Hus- 
sites to that of the Lutherans, and the great Procopius to 
the vindictive Calvin, as much as I prefer the exploits of 
the Taborites to those of the soldiers of Wallenstein, they 
have told you the truth, Consuelo. But what signifies my 
creed to you, who seem instinctively aware of truth, and 
who know the Deity better than I do? God forbid that I 
should bring you here to trouble your poor soul and 


352 


G0N8UEL0. 


peaceful conscience with my tormenting reveries! Re- 
main as you are, Consuelo; you were born pious and good; 
moreover, you were born poor and obscure, and nothing 
has changed in you the pure dictates of reason and the 
light of justice. We can pray together without disputing 
— you who know every thing although having learned 
nothing, and I who know very little after a long and tedi- 
ous study. In whatever temple you raise your voice, the 
knowledge of the true God will be in your heart, and the 
feeling of the true faith will kindle your soul. It is not 
to instruct you, but in order that your revelation may' be 
imparted to me, that I wished our voices and our spirits 
to unite before this altar, formed of the bones of my 
fathers.’^ 

I was not mistaken, then, in thinking that the§e hon- 
ored remains, as you call them, are those of Hussites, 
thrown into the fountain of the Schreckenstein during the 
bloody fury of the civil wars, in the time of your ancestor 
John Ziska, who, they say, made fearful reprisals? I have 
been told that, after burning the village, he destroyed the 
wells. I fancy I can discover in the obscurity of this vault, 
a circle of hewed stones above my head, which tells me 
that we are precisely under a spot where I have often sat 
when fatigued after searching for you in vain. Say, 
Count Albert, is this really the place that you have bap- 
tized as the Stone of Expiation?'^ 

Yes, it is here,’’ replied Albert, that torments and atro- 
cious violence have consecrate*'' '' “ my prayers. 



and the sanctuary of my 


enormous 


blocks suspended above our heads, and others scattered on 
the banks of the stream. The just hands of the Taborites 
flung them there by the orders of him whom they called 
the Terrible Blind Man ; but they only served to force 
back the waters toward those subterranean beds in which 
they succeeded in forcing a passage. The wells were 
destroyed, and I have covered their ruins with cypress, but 
it would have needed a mountain to fill this cavern. The 
blocks which were heaped up in the mouth of the well, 
were stopped by a winding stair, similar to that which you 
had the courage to descend in my garden at the castle. 
Since that time, the gradual pressure of the soil has thrust 
them closer together, and confines them better. If any 
portion of the mass escapes, it is during the winter frosts ; 
you have therefore nothing to fear from their fall,” 


CONSUELO. 


353 


It was not that of which I was thinking, Albert,” 
replied Oonsuelo, looking toward the gloomy altar on 
which he had placed his Stradivarius. I asked myself 
why you render exclusive worship to the memory of these 
victims, as if there were no martyrs on the other side, and 
as if the crimes of the one were more pardonable than 
those of the other?” 

Oonsuelo spoke thus in a severe tone, and looking dis- 
trustfully at Albert. She remembered Zdenko, and all 
her questions, had she dared so to utter them, assumed in 
her mind a tone of interrogation, such as would befit a 
judge toward a criminal. 

The painful emotion which suddenly seized upon the 
count seemed the confession of remorse. He passed his 
hands over his forehead, then pressed them against his 
breast, as if it were being torn asunder. His countenance 
changed in a frightful manner, and Oonsuelo feared that 
he might have only too well understood her. 

You do not know what harm you do me,” said he, 
leaning upon tlie heap of bones, and drooping his head 
toward the withered skulls, which seemed to gaze on him 
from their hollow orbits. ^^No, you cannot know it, 
Oonsuelo, and your cold remarks recall the memory of the 
dreary past. You do not know that you speak to a man 
who has lived through ages of grief, and who, after being 
the blind instrument of inflexible justice in the hands of 
God, has received his recompense and undergone his pun- 
ishment. I have so suffered, so wept, so expiated my 
dreary destiny, so atoned for the horrors to which my fate 
subjected me, that I had at last flattered myself I could 
forget them. Forgetfulness! — yes, forgetfulness! — that 
was the craving which consumed my aching breast ; that 
was my vow and my daily prayer ; that was the token of 
my alliance with man and my reconciliation with God, 
which, during long years, I had implored, prostrate upon 
these moldering bones. When I first saw you, Oonsuelo, 
I began to hope ; when you pitied me, I thought I was 
saved. See this wreath of withered flowers ready to fall 
into the d.ust, and which encircles the skull that sur- 
mounts the altar. You do not recognize it, though I 
have watered it with many a bitter yet soothing tear. It 
was you who gathered them, you who sent them to me by 
the companion of my sorrows, the faithful guardian of 


354 


C0N8UEL0. 


this sepulcher. Covering them with kisses and tears, I 
anxiously asked myself if you could ever feel any true and 
heartfelt regard for one like myself — a pitiless fanatic, an 
unfeeling tyrant ” . 

But what are the crimes you have committed?’^ said 
Oonsuelo firmly, distracted with a thousand varying 
emotions, and emboldened by the deep dejection of 
Albert. If you have a confession to make, make it here 
to me, that I may know if I can absolve and love you.” 

“Yes, you may absolve me; for he whom you know, 
Albert of Rudolstadt, has been innocent as a child ; but 
he whom you do not know, John Ziska of the Chalice, 
has been whirled by the wrath of Heaven into a career of 
iniquity.” 

Consuelo saw the imprudence of which she had been 
guilty, in rousing the slumbering flame and recalling to 
Albert’s mind his former madness. This, however, was 
n-ot the moment to combat it, and she was revolving in 
her mind some expedient to calm him, and had gradually 
sunk into a reverie, when suddenly she perceived that 
Albert no longer spoke, no longer held her hand — that he 
was not at her side, but standing a few paces off, before 
the monument, performing on his violin the singular airs 
with which she had been already so surprised and charmed. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

Albert at first played several of those ancient canticles 
whose authors are now either unknown or forgotten in 
Bohemia, but of which Zdenko had preserved the precious 
tradition, and the text of which the count had found by 
dint of study and meditation. He was so imbued with the 
spirit of these compositions, barbarous at the first glance, 
but profoundly touching and truly beautiful to an en- 
lightened and serious taste, and had made himself so 
familiar with them, as to be able to improvise on them at 
length, mingling with them his own ideas, then resuming 
and developing the original idea, and again giving way to 
his own inspiration, all without changing the original 
austere and striking character of these ancient produc- 


COmUELO. 


355 


tions by bis ingenious and learned interpretation. Con- 
suelo bad determined to listen to and retain these precious 
specimens of the popular genius of ancient Bohemia ; but 
all her endeavors soon became impossible, as much from 
her musing mood as the vague impression which the music 
itself produced. 

There is a species of music which may be termed natural, 
because it is not the production of science and reflection, 
but rather of an inspiration which escapes from the tram- 
mels of rules and conventions. Such is popular music, 
that of the peasants in particular. What glorious poetry 
appears, lives, and dies, as it were, among them, without 
ever having been correctly noted down, or appearing in 
any regular form! The unknown artist, who improvises 
his rustic ballad while he tends his flocks or drives the 
plow — and such exist even in the most prosaic countries — 
can rarely be induced to give a form to his fugitive ideas. 
He communicates it to others, children of nature like him- 
self, and they chant it from hamlet to hamlet, from hut 
to hut, each one according to his taste. It is for this 
reason that these songs and pastoral romances, so lively 
and simple, or so tender in sentiment, are for the most 
part lost, and have never lasted more than one century. 
Educated musicians will not trouble themselves to collect 
them. The most part despise them, for want of an intel- 
ligence and sentiment sufficiently elevated to comprehend 
them; others are turned aside by the difficulties they en- 
counter in their search for the true and real version, with 
which perhaps the author himself was unacquainted, and 
which certainly was not acknowledged as an invariable type 
by its numerous interpreters. Some* have changed it 
through ignorance ; others have developed, modified, or 
embellished it by their superior taste and intelligence, be- 
cause cultivation has not taught them to repress their 
natural impulses. They do not know that they have 
transformed the primitive work, and their candid hearers 
are no more aware of it than themselves. The peasant 
neither examines nor compares. When Heaven has made 
him a musician, he sings after the fashion of the birds, the 
nightingale especially, whose improvisation is endless, 
though the elements of her song be the same. Moreover, 
the genius of the people is unbounded. It is needless to 
register its productions, which, like those of the earth they 


356 


C0N8VEL0, 


cultivate, are unceasing; it creates every houi’, like nature, 
which inspires it.* 

Consuelo had all the candor, poetry, and sensibility in 
her composition which are requisite to comprehend and 
love popular music. In this she proved that she was a 
great artist, and that the learned theories which she studied 
had in no respect impaired the freshness and sweetness 
which are the treasures of inspiration and the youth of the 
soul. She had sometimes whispered to Anzoleto, so that 
Porpora could not hear, that she loved several of the 
barcaroles sung by the fishermen of the Adriatic, better 
than all the science of Padre Martini and Maestro Durante. 
Her mother’s songs and boleros were a source of poetic life 
from which she never wearied in drawing inspiration. 
What impression then must the musical genius of the 
Bohemians — that pastoral, warlike, fanatic people, grave 
and mild in the midst of the most potent elements of 
activity — have produced upon her! Such characteristics 
were at once striking and new to her. Albert performed 
this music with rare perception of the national spirit, and 
of the pious and energetic feelings in which it originated. 
He combined in his improvisation the profound melan- 
choly and heart-rending regret with which slavery had 
imbued his soul and that of his people ; and this min- 
gling of sorrow and bravery, of exultation and depression, 
these hymns of gratitude united with cries of distress, 
pictured in the deepest and most lively colors the sorrows 
of Bohemia and of Albert. 

It has been justly said, that the aim of music is to 
awaken feeling. No other art so reveals the sublime emo- 
tions of the human soul; no art so depicts the glories of 
nature, the delights of contemplation, the character of 
nations, the whirl of passion, and the cry of suffering. 
Hope, fear, regret, despair, devotion, enthusiasm, faith, 
doubt, glory, peace — all these, and more, music gives us, 
and takes away from us again, according to its genius and 
our own capacity. It presents things in an entirely new 


*The author here enters, in a note, into some particulars relative 
to the hurdy-gurdy players in France. The principal instructors, it 
appears, are in Bourbonnais, in the woods. Their simple composi- 
tions, which they reckon by the hundreds, and are yearly renewed, 
embrace only the simplest elements of music. 


C0N8UEL0, 


357 


and original aspect, and without being guilty of the pueril- 
ities of mere sound, and the imitation of external noises, 
it suffers us to perceive, through a dreamy haze which en- 
hances and ennobles them, the exterior objects to which it 
transports our imagination. Certain anthems will evoke 
the gigantic phantoms of ancient cathedrals, allow us to 
penetrate into the secret thoughts of their constructors, 
and of those who, kneeling within their holy precincts, utter 
their hymns of praise to God. Those who are able to ex- 
press simply and powerfully the music of different nations, 
and know how to listen to it as it deserves, need not to 
make a tour of the world in order to behold different 
nations, to visit their monuments, to read their books, or 
to traverse their plains, their mountains, their gardens, 
and their wildernesses. A Jewish air at once transports us 
into the synagogue; a pibroch conveys us to the Highlands of 
Scotland; while all Spain is revealed to us by a melody of 
that fair land. Thus have I been many a time in Poland, 
Germany, Naples, Ireland, India; and thus have I come 
to be better acquainted with the inhabitants of these coun- 
tries than if I had known them for years. It required but 
an instant to transport me there and make me a sharer 
in all their thoughts and emotions. I identified myself 
with every phase of their existence by studying their music 
and making it my own. 

Oonsuelo gradually ceased to hear Albert’s violin. Her 
soul was rapt, and her senses, closed against all outward 
objects, awoke in another world, to traverse unknown 
regions inhabited by a new race of beings. She beheld, 
amidst a strange chaos at once horrible and magnificent, 
the spectral form of the heroes of old Bohemia; she heard 
the mournful clang of bells, while the formidable Taborites 
descended from their fortified mounts, lean, half-clad, 
bloody and ferocious. Then she beheld the angels of 
death assembled in the clouds, the cup and sword in their 
hands. Hovering in a compact troop over the heads of 
the prevaricating pontiffs, she saw them pour out upon the 
accused earth the vial of divine wrath. She fancied she 
heard the rushing of their wings, and the dropping blood 
which extinguished the conflagration lighted by their 
fury. Sometimes it was a night of terror and gloom, 
wherein she heard the sobs and groans of the dying on the 
field of battle. Sometimes it was a glowing day, of which 


358 


CONSUELO. 


she could hardly bear the splendor, in which she saw the 
thundering chariot of the Terrible Blind Man, with his 
helmet and his rusty cuirass, and the gore-stained bandage 
which covered his eyes. Temples opened of themselves as 
he approached; monks fled into the bosom of the earth, 
carrying away their relics and their treasures in a corner 
of their robes. Then the conquerors brought feeble old 
men, mendicants covered with sores like Lazarus; madmen 
who ran singing and laughing like Zdenko; executioners 
stained with blood, little children with pure hands and 
angel looks, amazons carrying torches and bundles of pikes, 
and seated them round a table, while an angel radiant with 
beauty, like those which Albert Durer has introduced into 
his apocalyptic compositions, presented to their greedy 
lips the wooden cup, the chalice of forgiveness, of restor- 
ation, and of sacred equality. This angel re-appeared in 
all the visions that floated around Consuelo. She saw him, 
the beautiful one, the sorrowful, the immortal, proudest 
among the proud. He bore along with him his broken 
chains; and his torn pinions dragging on the ground 
betrayed tokens of violence and captivity. He smiled 
compassionately on the men of crime, and pressed the 
little children to his bosom. 

Excited, fascinated, she darted toward him with open 
arms while her knees bent under her. Albert let fall his 
violin, which gave out a plaintive sound as it fell, and 
received the young girl in his arms while he uttered a cry 
of surprise and transport. It was he whom Consuelo had 
listened to and looked at, while dreaming of the rebellious 
angel — his form, his image which had attracted and sub- 
dued her — it was against his heart that she had come to 
rest her own, exclaiming in a choking voice — ‘‘Thine! 
thine! Angel of Grief, thine and Hedy’s forever!” 

But hardly had Albert’s lips touched hers, than a deadly 
chill and scorching pain ran through limb and brain. The 
illusion, so roughly dissipated, inflicted so violent a shock 
upon her system that she felt as if about to expire, and 
extricating herself from the arms of the count, she fell 
against the bones of the altar, which gave way with a 
frightful crash. Seeing herself covered with these dread 
remains, and in the arms of Albert, who gazed on her 
with surprise and alarm, she experienced such dreadful 
anguish and terror that, hiding her face in her disheveled 


CONSUBLO. 


350 


hair, she exclaimed with sobs: ^^Away! away! in the 
name of Heaven — light! air! 0 God, rescue me" from this 
sepulcher, and restore me to the light of the sun!” 

Albert, seeing her pale and delirious, darted toward her, 
and would have lifted her in his arms to extricate her 
from the cavern. But in her consternation she under- 
stood him not, and, abruptly rising, she began to fly reck- 
lessly toward the recesses of the cavern, without giving 
any heed to the obstacles by which she was beset, and 
which in many places presented imminent danger. 

. In the name of God,” said Albert, ‘Miot that way! 
Death is in your path! Wait for me!” 

But his cries only served to augment Consuelo’s terror. 
She bounded twice over the brook with the lightness of a 
roe, and without knowing what she did. At last, in a 
gloomy recess planted with cypress, she dashed against a 
sort of mound, and fell with her hands before her on 
earth freshly turned up. 

This shock made such an impression upon her that a 
kind of stupor succeeded to her terror. Suffocated, 
breathless, and not well comprehending what she felt, she 
suffered the count to approach. He had hastened after 
her, and had had the presence of mind in pjissing to seize 
one of the torches from the rocks, in order to light her 
along the windings of the stream in case he should not 
overtake her before she reached a spot which he knew to 
be deep, and toward which she appeared to direct her 
course. The poor young man was so overwhelmed by 
such sudden and contrary emotions, that he dared not 
speak to her, nor even offer her his hand. She was seated 
on the heap of earth which had caused her to stumble, 
and dared not utter a word, but confused, and with down- 
cast eyes, she gazed mechanically upon the ground. 
Suddenly she perceived that this mound had the form and 
appearance of a tomb, and that she was really seated on a 
recently made grave, over which were strewed branches of 
cypress" and withered flowers. She rose hastily, and with 
fresh terror which she could not conquer, exclaimed, Oh, 
Albert, whom have you buried here?” 

buried here what was dearest to me in the world 
before I knew you,” replied Albert, with the most painful 
emotion. '' If I have committed an act of sacrilege during 
my delirium, and under the idea of fulfilling a sacred duty, 


360 


mmvsjLo. 


God will, I trust, pardon me. I shall tell you anotliei' 
time what soul inhabited the body which rests here. At 
present you are too much agitated, and require the fresh 
air. Come, Oonsuelo, let us leave this place, where yoii 
made me in one moment the happiest and most miserable 
of men.^’ 

‘‘Oh, yes!^^ she exclaimed, “let us go hence. I know 
not what vapors are rising from the earth, but I feel as if I 
were about to die, and as if my reason were deserting me.'’^ 

They left the cavern together without uttering another 
word. Albert went first, stopping and holding down his 
torch before each stone, so that his companion might see 
.and shun it. When he was about to open the door of the 
cell, a recollection occurred to Oonsuelo, doubtless in con- 
sequence of her artistic turn of thought, though otherwise 
seemingly out of place. 

“ Albert,” said she, “you have forgotten your violin be- 
side the spring. This admirable instrument, which caused 
me emotions hitherto unknown, I could not consent to 
abandon to certain destruction in this damp place.” 

Albert made a gesture indicating the little value he now 
attached to any thing beside Oonsuelo. But she insisted. 
“ It has caused me much pain,” said she, “ neverthe- 
less ” 

“If it has caused you only pain, let it be destroyed,” 
said he, with bitterness. “I never wish to touch it again 
during my life. Oh! I have been too late in destroying it.” 

“It would be false were I to say so,” replied Oonsuelo, 
whose respect for the musical genius of the count began to 
revive. “T was too much agitated, that is all, and my de- 
light changed into anguish. Seek it, my friend; I should 
wish to put it in its case until I have courage to place it in 
your hands and listen to it again.” 

Oonsuelo was affected by the look of satisfaction which 
the count gave her as he re-entered the grotto in order to 
obey her. She remained alone for a few moments, and re- 
proached herself for her foolish fears and suspicions. She 
remembered, trembling and blushing as she did so, the de- 
lirium which had cast her into his arms; but she could not 
avoid admiring the respect and forbearance of this man, 
who adored her, and yet who did not take advantage of 
the opportunity to speak of his love. His sad and languid 
demeanor plainly indicted that he hoped nothing either 


C0N8UEL0, 


361 


from the present or from the future. She acknowledged 
his delicacy, and determined to soften by sweetest words 
their mutual farewell on leaving the cavern. 

But the remembrance of Zdenko was fated to pursue her 
like a vengeful shadow, and force her to accuse Albert in 
spite of herself. On approaching the door, her eyes lighted 
on an inscription in Bohemian which she could easily de- 
cipher, since she knew it by heart. Some hand, which 
could be no other than Zdenko’s, had traced it with chalk 
on the dark deep door: May he whom they have wronged 

The rest was unintelligible to Consuelo, but the 

alteration of the last word caused her great uneasiness. 
Albert returned, grasping his violin, but she had neither 
courage nor presence of mind to assist him as she had 
promised. She was impatient to quit the cavern. When 
he turned the key in the lock, she could not avoid placing 
her finger on the m3^sterious word, and looking interroga- 
tively at her host. 

That means,” said Albert, with an appearance of tran- 
quility, may the acknowledged angel, the friend of the 
unhappy ” 

Yes, I know that; and what more?” 

May he pardon thee!” 

And why pardon?” she replied, turning pale. 

If grief be pardonable,” said the count, with a melan- 
choly air, have a long prayer to make.” 

They entered the gallery, and did not break silence un- 
til they reached the Monk^s Cave. But when the light of 
day shed its pale refiection through the foliage on the 
counCs features, Consuelo observed the silent tears flow 
gently down his cheeks. She was affected, yet when he 
approached with a timid air to carry her to the entrance, 
she preferred wetting her feet rather than permit him to 
lift her in his arms. She alleged his fatigue and exhaus- 
tion as a pretext for refusing, and already her slippers 
were moistened, when Albert exclaimed, extinguishing his 
torch : 

Farewell, then, Consuelo! I see your aversion, and I 
must return to eternal night, like a specter evoked for a 
moment from the tomb, only to inspire you with fear.” 

^^No! your life belongs to me,” exclaimed Consuelo, 
turning and stopping him; ^^you made an oath never to 
enter this cavern without me, and you have uo right to 
withdraw it.” 


362 


CONSUELO. 


And why do you wish to impose the burthen of life on 
a phantom? A recluse is but the shadow of a man, and 
he who is not loved, is alone, everywhere and with every 
one.” 

‘^Albert! Albert! you rend rny heart! Come, take me 
away. In the light of day I shall perhaps see more clearly 
into my own destiny.” 


CHAPTER LVII. 

Albert obeyed, and when they began to descend from 
the base of the Schreckenstein to the valleys beneath, Con- 
suelo became calmer. 

Pardon me,” said she, leaning gently on his arm; I 
have certainly been mad myself in the grotto.” 

^M¥hy recall it, Oonsuelo? I should never have spoken 
of it; I knew that you would wish to efface it from your 
memory, as I must endeavor to blot it from mine.” 

‘‘1 ’do not wish to forget it, my friend, but to entreat 
your pardon for it. If I were to relate the strange vision 
which I had while listening to your Bohemian airs, you 
would find that I was out of my senses when I caused you 
such terror. You cannot believe that I would trifle with 
your reason or your repose. Heaven is my witness that I 
would lay down my life for you.” 

I know that you set no great value on life, Oonsuelo; 

but I — I feel that I would covet it earnestly, if ” 

Well; if what?” 

^^If I were beloved even as I love.” 

^‘Albert, I love you as much as is allowable : /^I would 

doubtless love you as you deserve to be loved, if ” 

It is your turn to speak.” 

^^If insurmountable obstacles did not make it a crime.” 
And what are these obstacles ? I vainly seek them 
around you; I only find them in your heart — doubtless 
in the memory of the past.” 

Do not speak of the past; it is hateful to me. I would 
rather die than live over that past again. Your rank, your 
fortune, the opposition and anger of your relatives, where 
should I find courage to meet these, Albert? I possess 
nothing in this world but my pride and independence; 
what would remain were I to sacrifice them?” 


C0N8UEL0, 


363 


My love and yours, if you loved me. But I feel that 
this is not the case, and I only ask your pity. How could 
you be humiliated by giving me happiness as an alms? 
Which of us could then take precedence of the other? 
How would you be lowered by my fortune? Could we not 
quickly cast it to the poor if it oppressed you? Know you 
not that I have long resolved to employ it according to my 
convictions and my tastes, that is to say, to get rid of it, 
when my father’s loss should add the trouble of his inher- 
itance to that of separation? Are you afraid of being rich? 
I have vowed poverty. Are you afraid of my name render- 
ing you illustrious? It is a false name; the true one is pro- 
scribed. True, I shall never resume it, lest I Avere to in- 
jure the memory of my father; but in my obscurity I swear 
to you no one shall be dazzled by it, and as to the opposi- 
tion of my friends — oh, if there be no other obstacle but 
that — only tell me so, and you shall see!” 

“ It is the greatest of all; the only one which all my de- 
votion, all my gratitude toward you, cannot remove.” 

You do not speak the truth, Oonsuelo. You dare not 
swear it. It is not the only obstacle.” 

Consuelo hesitated. She had never told an untruth, yet 
she wished to repair the evil she had done lier friend, who 
had saved her life, and who had Avatched over her for 
months with the tender solicitude of a mother. She wished 
to soften her refusal by pointing out obstacles which she 
really believed insurmountable. But Albert’s questions 
troubled her, and her own heart Avas a labyrinth in which 
she lost herself, because she could not say Avith certainty 
whether she loved or hated this singular man, toAvard 
whom a mysterious and powerful sympathy had attracted 
her, Avhile at the same time an invincible dread, and some- 
thing even approaching dislike, made her tremble at the 
mere idea of an engagement Avith him. 

It seemed to her at this moment as if she hated Anzo- 
leto. Could it be otherwise when she compared his coarse 
selfishness, his Ioav ambition, his baseness, his perfidy, with 
Albert’s generous, humane, pure spirit, so deeply imbued 
with lofty virtue? The only stain which could sully the 
latter was this attempt on Zdenko’s life, Avhich she could 
not help believing. But this suspicion might be the off- 
spring of her imagination, a nightmare Avhich a moment’s 
explanation could dispel. She pretended to be preoccu- 


364 


CONSUELO. 


pied, and not to liave heard Albert’s last question. 

Heavens!” she exclaimed, stopping to look at a peasant 
who passed at some distance. I thought I saw Zdenko!” 

Albert shuddered, dropped Oonsuelo’sarm, which he held 
within his own, took a few steps forward, then stopped and 
returned toward her, saying, ^^What an error is yours, 

Consuelo! this man has not the least resemblance to ” 

he could not say Zdenko; his features betrayed violent 
agitation. 

You thought it yourself, however, for a moment,” said 
Consuelo, who looked at him attentively. 

I am near-sighted; and I ought to have recollected 
that this meeting was impossible.” 

‘^Impossible? Zdenko is then far away?” 

“So far, that you need fear nothing from his madness.” 

“ Can you explain his sudden hatred to me after his 
previous display of sympathy?” 

“ I told you that it arose from a dream which he had on 
the eve of your descent into the cavern. He saw you in a 
vision follow me to the altar, where you consented to pledge 
your faith to me; and there you sang our, old Bohemian 
hymn with a clear and thrilling voice which made the 
whole church ring; and while you sang he saw me grow 
pale and sink into the floor, until at length I was dead and 
buried in the sepulcher of my fathers. Then he beheld 
you cast away your hymeneal crown, push the flat stone 
over my head, which covered me on the instant, and dance 
on it, singing incomprehensible words in an unknown lan- 
guage, with all the marks of unbounded joy. Enraged, he 
threw himself on you ; but you had already disappeared 
in a thick vapor, and he awoke, bathed in perspiration, and 
transported with anger. He awoke me also, for his cries 
and imprecations made the vault echo again. I found it 
difficult to induce him to narrate his dream, and still more 
to hinder him from looking upon it as the counterpart of 
my future destiny. I could not easily convince him, for I * 
was m3^self laboring under morbid mental excitement, and 
had never tried previously to dissuade him when I saw him 
place implicit belief in his visions and dreams. Neverthe- 
less, I hoped that he had ceased to think of it or attach any 
importance to it, for he never said a word on the subject ; 
and when I asked him to go and speak to you about me, 
he did not oppose it. It never entered into his concep- 


GONSUELO. 


365 


tions tliat you should seek me here, and his frenzy was 
roused only when he saw you attempt the task. Neverthe- 
less, he displayed no hatred against you till the moment 
we met him on our return from the subterranean galleries. 
He then informed me very laconically in Bohemian that 
he intended to deliver me from you — that was his expres- 
sion — and to destroy you the first time he met you alone; 
for that you were the bane of my life, and had my death 
written in your eyes. Pardon these details, and say if I 
had not ground for apprehension. Let us speak no more 
about it, if you please, the subject is truly painful. I 
loved Zdenko as a second self. His mental wander- 
ings were identified with my own to such an extent 
that we had the same dreams, the same thoughts, and 
even the same physical indispositions. But he was more 
cheerful, and to some extent of a more poetical turn than 
myself ; the phantoms which appalled me were, to his 
more genial organization, simply melancholy, or, per- 
chance, even gay. The greatest difference between us 
was that my attacks were irregular, whereas he was ever 
the same. While I was a prey to delirium or despair, he 
lived constantly in a kind of dream, in which all objects 
assumed a symbolical aspect; and this was even of so sweet 
and gentle a form, that in my lucid moments, certainly 
the most painful of all, I required the sight of his peace- 
ful delusion to cheer and reconcile me to life.^’ 

Oh, my friend !” said Consuelo, ‘^you should hate me, 
as I hate myself, for having deprived you of so devoted and 
precious a friend! But his exile has lasted long enough ; 
he is by this time surely recovered from his temporary 
attack.” 

^‘Probably,” said Albert, with a strange and bitter 
smile. 

'"Well, then,” replied Consuelo, whose mind revolted at 
the idea of Zdenko's death, "why not recall him? I 
should see him without fear, I assure you, and we should 
make him forget his prejudices.” 

"Do not speak of it, Consuelo,” said Albert, sorrow- 
fully; " he will never return. I have sacrificed my best 
friend, my companion, my servant, my stay — my provident, 
laborious mother — my dear, submissive, unconscious child; 
he who provided for all my wants, for my innocent yet 
melancholy pleasures; he who upheld me in moments of 


GONSUELO. 


^60 

despair, and who resorted to force and cunning to prevent 
me from leaving my cell, when he saw me incapable of 
preserving my own dignity and existence in the world of 
living men. I have made this sacrifice without remorse, 
because I felt I ought; for since you have faced the 
dangers of the cavern and restored me to reason and a 
sense of duty, you are at once more sacred and precious to 
me than even Zdenko himself.” 

This is an error — an outrage, Albert ! A moment’s 
courage is not to be compared to a whole life of devotion.” 

Do not suppose that a wild and selfish love 
has induced me to act as I have done. I should have 
thrust it back into my bosom, and shut myself up in my 
cavern with Zdenko, rather than break the heart of the 
best of men. But the hand of Providence was in it. I 
had resisted the impulse which mastered me ; had fled 
from your sight so long as the dreams and presentiments 
which made me hope to find in you an angel of mercy, 
were unrealized. Up to the moment when a frightful 
vision deranged the gentle and pious Zdenko, he shared my 
aspirations, my hopes, my fears, and my religions desires. 
Poor soul ! he mistook you the very day you declared your- 
self. The light of his soul grew dim, and he was con- 
demned to confusion and despair. It was my duty also to 
abandon him; for you appeared wrapped in rays of glory, 
your descent was a prodigy, and you cleared away the 
mists from my eyes, by words which your calm intellect, 
and education as an artist did not permit you to study and 
prepare. Pity and charity alike inspired you, and under 
their wonder-working influence you told me what I ought 
to do in order to know and understand the life of man.” 

“ What then did I say so wise and so good? Truly, 
Albert, T know not.” 

"'Nor I either; but Heaven was in your voice and in the 
calm serenity of your looks. With you I learned in an 
instant that which I never should have learned alone. I 
knew that my previous life was an expiation, a martyrdom; 
and I sought the accomplishment of my destiny in darkness, 
solitude, and tears — in anger, stud}’^, penance, and macera- 
tions. You gave me another life, another martyrdom — 
one all patience, sweetness, toleration, and devotion. My 
duties, which you so simply traced out for me, beginning 
with those toward my family — I had forgotten them, and 


(JOmUELO. 


367 

my family, through excess of kindness, overlooked my 
faults. Thanks to you, I have atoned for them; and from 
the first day I knew you, I have felt, from the calmness 
that I have experienced, that no more was required from 
me at present. ^ I know, indeed, that this is not all, and I 
await the ulterior revelations of my destiny ; but I have 
confidence, because I have found an oracle that I can con- 
sult. You are that oracle, Consuelo. You have received 
power over me, and I shall not rebel against it. I there- 
fore ought not to have hesitated a moment between the 
power which was to regenerate me, and the poor passive 
creature who had hitherto shared my distresses and borne 
with my outbreaks.^^ 

^^Do you speak of Zdenko? But how do you know that 
I might not have cured him also ? You saw that I had 
already gained some power over him, since I could con- 
vince him by a word when he was about to kill me.” 

^^Oh, Heavens! it is too true. I have been wanting in 
faith. I was afraid. I knew what the oaths of Zdenko 
were. He had sworn to live only for me, and he kept his 
oath in my absence as since my return. When he swore 
to destroy you I did not think it possible to change his 
resolution, and I determined to offend, banish, crush, 
destroy him.” 

‘^To destroy him! What do you mean, Albert? Where 
is -Zdenko ?” 

You ask me, as God asked of Cain, ^ Where is thy 
brother T ” 

Oh, Heavens ! you have not killed him, Albert ?” 
And Consuelo, as she uttered the word clung to Alberts 
arm, and looked at him with a mixture of pity and terror. 
But she recoiled from the proud and cold expression of 
his pale countenance, where grief seemed to have fixed her 
abode. 

I have not Icilled him, yet I have taken his life assur- 
edly. And if I have preferred regret and repentance to 
the fear of seeing you assassinated by a madman, have you 
so little pity in your heart that you always recall my 
sorrow, and reproach me with the greatest sacrifice I could 
make? You also are cruel ! Cruelty is never extinct in 
a human breast.” 

There was such solemnity in this reproach, the first that 
Albert had ever addressed to her, that Consuelo felt more 


86S 


domUELO. 


than ever the fear which he inspired her. A sort of 
humiliation — weak, perhaps, but inherent in the female 
heart — replaced the pride with which she had listened to 
his passionate declaration. She felt herself humbled, no 
doubt misunderstood, because she did not wish to discover 
his secret, save with the intention, or at least the desire, 
of responding to his affection if he could justify himself. 
At the same time she perceived that she was guilty in the 
eyes of her lover, because if he had really killed Zdenko, 
the only person in the world who had no right to condemn 
him, was she whose life required the sacrifice of another 
life infinitely precious to Albert. 

Consuelo could not reply ; she endeavored to speak of 
something else, but tears choked her utterance. In seeing 
them flow Albert was distressed in his turn ; but she 
begged him never to recur to so painful a subject, and 
promised on her part, with a feeling bordering on despair, 
never to mention a name which caused him such terrible 
emotion. They were constrained and unhappy during the 
remainder of the day, and vainly endeavored to converse 
on some other subject. Consuelo did not know either 
what she said or heard. This sad but deep tranquility, 
with such a load on his conscience, bordered on madness, 
and Consuelo could not justify her friend save in remem- 
bering that he was mad. If he had killed some bandit in 
fair fight in order to save her life, she would have felt 
gratitude and perhaps admiration for his strength and 
courage; but this mysterious murder, doubtless perpetrated 
in the darkness of the cavern — this sepulcher dug in the very 
sanctuary — this morose silence after such a deed — the 
stoical fanaticism with which he dared to lead her to the 
grotto, and there deliver himself up to the charms of 
music — all this was horrible, and Consuelo felt that love 
for such a man was a feeling which could not enter her 
heart. "'When could he have committed the murder?” 
she asked herself. I have not for months seen a trace of 
remorse on his brow. Was there not, perhaps, blood on 
his hands some day when I offered him mine? Dreadful! 
He must be made of stone or ice, or else he loves me to 
the vei-ge of madness. And I who so wished to inspire a 
boundless love — I who so bitterly regretted being loved so 
coldly! Behold what heaven has reserved for me in an- 
swer to my wish!” 


CONSUELO. 


369 


Then she once more endeavored to guess at what time 
Albert had accomplished his horrible sacrifice. She 
thought it must have been during her severe illness, when 
she was indifferent to all outward things ; but when she re- 
membered the tender and delicate care which Albert had 
lavished on her, she could not reconcile the two characters, 
so dissimilar to each other, and to those of mankind in 
general. 

Lost in dreary reverie, she received with an absent air 
the flowers which Albert gathered for her on their way, 
and which he knew she loved. She never even thought 
of leaving him and entering the castle alone, so as to con- 
ceal their meeting; afld whether it was that Albert thought 
no more about it, or that he deemed it unnecessary to dis- 
semble any longer with his family, he did not suggest such 
a precaution, and they found themselves face to face with 
the canoness, at the entrance of the castle. For the flrst 
time, Consuelo — and, doubtless, Albert also — observed 
those features, which were rarely ugly in spite of their de- 
formity, inflamed with anger. 

^‘It is high time for you to return, signora,” said she 
to the Porporina, in a voice trembling with indignation. 

We were really uneasy about Count Albert. His father, 
w’ho would not breakfast without him, wished to have a con- 
ference with him this morning, which you have thought 
proper to make him forget. And, as for yourself, there is 
a young fellow in the saloon who calls himself your 
brother, and who awaits your arrival with rather ill-bred 
impatience.” 

After having expressed herself in these extraordinary 
terms, the poor Wenceslawa, terrified at her own exploit, 
set off for her own apartment, where she coughed and 
wept for more than an hour. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

aunt is in a strange mood,” said Albert, as they 
ascended together the steps of the entrance. ''I beg you 
will pardon her; and be assured that this very day she will 
alter her manner and language.” 

My brother?” said Consuelo, stupified with the news 
which had just been announced, and not hearing what the 
young count said. 


370 


CONSUELO. 


I did not know you had a brother/" said Albert, who 
was more struck by his aunt’s ill-temper than by this oc- 
currence. “ You will doubtless be glad to see him, dear 
Consuelo, and I am rejoiced.” 

Better not, signor count,” replied Consuelo, a painful 
presentiment rapidly occurring to her mind; some dread- 
ful sorrow is perhaps in store for me, and ” She 

paused, trembling, for she was on the point of asking ad- 
vice and protection; but she was afraid of drawing closer 
the bonds already existing between them; and, not daring 
either to receive or avoid the visitor who introduced him- 
self to her under color of an untruth, she felt her knees 
fail her, and, turning pale, was oblig^l to support herself 
against the balustrade. 

*^Do you fear bad news from your family?” said Albert, 
who now began to grew uneasy. 

I have no family,” replied Consuelo, endeavoring to 
move on. She was about to say that she had no brother, 
but some vague terror prevented her. In crossing the 
dining-hall, she heard the creaking of the traveler’s boots 
pacing backward and forward impatiently. By an invol- 
untary movement she approached the young count, and as 
she took his arm, pressed it against her own, as if to seek 
refuge in his affection from the sufferings which she an- 
ticipated. 

Albert, struck by this movement, felt a deadly appre- 
hension. “ Do not go in,” said he, in a low tone of voice, 

without me; I feel, by a sort of presentiment which has 
never yet failed me, that this brother is your enemy and 
mine. I am chilled — I am afraid, as if I were about to be 
forced to hate some one!” 

Consuelo withdrew her arm, which Albert had pressed 
close to his bosom; she trembled lest he should adopt one 
of those singular ideas — one of those implacable resolutions 
— of which Zdenko’s presumptive death afforded a deplor- 
able instance. 

'‘Let us part here,” she said in German, for their 
voices could now be heard in the adjoining apartment. "I 
have nothing to fear at present ; but, if the future 
threaten, Albert, be assured I shall have recourse to you.” 

Albert yielded with extreme reluctance. Fearing to be 
found wanting in delicacy, he dared not disobey; but he 
could not resolve to leave the hall. Consuelo, who under- 


CONSUELO. 


371 


stood his thoughts, closed the double doors of the saloon 
when she entered, in order that he might neither hear nor 
see what was about to occur. Anzoleto (for his effrontery 
left no doubt on her mind that it was indeed he) was pre- 
pared to salute her bodily, in the presence of witnesses, 
with a fraternal embrace; but when he saw her enter alone, 
pale, but cold and severe, he lost all his courage, and, 
stammering, threw himself at her feet. It was not neces- 
sary, indeed, for him to feign joy or tenderness; he experi- 
enced both these feelings in their full reality, at discover- 
ing her whom, notwithstanding his baseness, he had never 
ceased to love. lie burst into tears, and as she would not 
let him take her hands, he covered the border of her gar- 
ment with kisses and tears. Consuelo had not expected to 
find him thus. For months she had thought of him as he 
had appeared on the night of their separation — the most 
bitter, hateful, and detestable of men. That very morning 
she had seen him pass with an insolent and careless air. 
Now he was on his knees, repentant, prostrate, bathed in 
tears, as in the stormiest days of their once passionate 
reconciliations, and handsomer than ever; for his traveling 
costume, though common enough, became him to admira- 
tion, and his sunburnt complexion imparted a more manly 
expression to his classic features. Trembling like the 
dove in the grasp of the hawk, she was forced to seat her- 
self and hide her face in her hands, to avoid the fascina- 
tion of his gaze. This gesture, which Anzoleto took for 
shame, encouraged him, and the return of his evil thoughts 
soon destroyed the effect of his first warm and unaffected 
transports. Anzoleto, in flying from Venice, and the vex- 
ations inseparable from his faults, had no other aim but 
that of seeking his fortune; but he had always cherished 
the desire and expectation of once more finding out his 
dear Consuelo. Such talents as hers could not, in his 
opinion, remain long hidden, and by dint of chatting with 
innkeepers, guides, and travelers, he left no means untried 
of procuring information. At Vienna he had met persons 
of distinction from his native city, to whom he had con- 
fessed his folly and his flight. They advised him to wait 
in some place at a distance from Venice, until Count 
Zustiniani had forgotten or forgiven his escapade; and, 
while promising to intercede for him, they gave him let- 
ters of introduction to Prague, Dresden, and Berlin. 


372 


GONSUELO. 


When passing by the Castle of the Giants, Anzoleto bad 
never thought of questioning his guide ; but after about 
half an hour’s rapid ride, having paused to breathe the 
horses, he had entered into conversation with him relative 
to the people and the surrounding country. Naturally 
enough, the guide spoke of the lords of Eudolstadt, their 
strange mode of life, and particularly of the eccentricities 
of Count Albert, which were no longer a secret to any 
body, especially since Doctor Wetzelius had declared open 
enmity toward him. The guide added to this the local 
gossip that the count had refused to marry his cousin, the 
beautiful Baroness Amelia de Eudolstadt, in order to take 
up with an adventuress, not so remarkable for her beauty 
as for her admirable singing, which enchanted everyone. 

This description was so applicable to Consuelo, that our 
traveler immediately asked the name of the adventuress, 
and learning that she was called the Porporina, instantly 
guessed the truth. He retraced his steps; and after hav- 
ing rapidly invented the pretext by which to introduce 
himself into so well-guarded a castle, he continued to 
question his guide still further. The man’s gossip induced 
him to believe that Consuelo was the young count’s be- 
trothed, and was about to become his wife ; for the story 
was, that she had enchanted the whole family, and instead 
of turning her out of doors as she deserved, they paid her 
more respect and attention than they had ever done to the 
Baroness Amelia. 

These details stimulated Anzoleto quite as much as, and 
perhaps even more, than his real attachment for Consuelo. 
He had indeed sighed for the return of that peaceful exist- 
ence which he had led with her; he had truly felt that in 
losing her advice and direction, he had destroyed, or at 
least put in jeopard}^ the success of his musical career; 
and, in short, he was strongly attracted to her by a love at 
once selfish, deep-seated, and unconquerable. But to all 
this was added the vainglorious wish of disputing the affec- 
tions of Consuelo with a rich and noble lover, of snatching 
her from a brilliant marriage, and causing it to be said in 
the neighborhood and in the world, that this highly cher- 
ished girl had preferred to follow his fortunes rather than 
become countess and chatelaine. He amused- himself, 
therefore, by making his guirle repeat that the Porporina 
was lady paramount at Eiesenburg ; and inwardly gloried 


COKSUELO, 


m 

111 the childish idea that this same guide should relate to 
future travelers, that one day a gay young fellow rode up 
to the inhospitable Castle of the Giants, cmne, saw, and 
conquered, and a day or two afterward took his leave, car- 
rying with him this pearl of singers, before the very eyes 
of the puissant lord of Rudolstadt. 

At this idea he struck the rowels into his horse^s sides, 
and laughed so loud and long, that the guide concluded 
that of the two certainly Count Albert was not the madder. 

The canoness received Anzoleto with distrust, but did 
not like to dismiss him, as she hoped that he would per- 
haps take with him his pretended sister. He was out of 
temper when he learned that Consuelo was walking, and 
he questioned the domestics on the subject while they 
served breakfast. Only one of them understood a little 
Italian, and he replied, without any malicious intention, 
that he had seen the signora on the mountain with the 
young count. Anzoleto said to himself, that if Consuelo 
were the betrothed of the count, she would have the proud 
attitude of a person in her position ; but if it were other- 
wise, she would be less certain of her standing, and would 
tremble before an old friend who might thwart her 
projects. 

Anzoleto was too acute not to perceive the ill-temper 
and uneasiness with which the canoness viewed this long 
walk of Porporina with her nephew. As he did not see 
Count Christian, he thought that the guide must have 
misinformed him, that the family were displeased with 
the counPs atfection for the young adventuress, and that 
the latter would be abashed before her first lover. 

Interpreting in this manner the irresistible emotion she 
had felt on first seeing him, he thought, when he saw her 
sink in her chair, fainting and agitated, that he might go 
any lengths. He therefore gave full scope to his eloquence, 
reproached himself for the past, humbled himself hypo- 
critically, wept, related his torments and despair, painting 
them somewhat more poetically than the truth warranted, 
and finally implored her pardon with all the persuasive 
eloquence of a Venetian and an accomplished actor. 

Agitated by his voice, and fearing her own weakness 
more than his remaining influence, Consuelo, who also 
had had time for reflection during the last four months, was 
sufficiently self-possessed to detect in these professions, 


374 


comriELO. 


and in this passionate eloquence, what she had already 
heard a thousand times at Venice, in the latter days of 
their unhappy attachment. It mortified her to find that 
he used the same assurances, the same oaths, as if nothing 
had happened since those quarrels in which she was far 
from suspecting the infamous -part Anzoleto had played. 
Indignant at such audacity and such flowery language, 
when tears and shame alone should have manifested them- 
selves, she cut him short by rising and coldly replying. It 
is enough, Anzoleto ; I have already pardoned you, and I 
wish to hear no more. Anger has given place to pity, 
and your misconduct and my sufferings are equally for- 
gotten. There is nothing more to say. I thank you for 
the kindness which induced you to interrupt your journey 
with a view to a reconciliation ; but your pardon, as you 
see, was already granted. So now adieu!” 

“I leave you? — I quit you?” exclaimed Anzoleto, now 
really terrified. No! I would rather you would kill me 
at once. No! never should I be able to live without you. 
I could not do it, Consuelo — I have tried, and I know it is 
in vain. Where you are not, there is nothing for me. 
My hateful ambition, my miserable vanity, to which I 
wished, but in vain, to sacrifice my love, have been my 
torment, and have never yielded me a mementos pleasure. 
Your image follows me everywhere ; the memory of our 
happiness, so pure, so chaste, so delightful (and where 
could you yourself find any thing approaching to it?) is 
ever before my eyes ; I am disgusted with all around me. 
Oh! Consuelo, do you remember the lovely nights at 
Venice, our boat, the stars, our endless songs, and your 
gentle lessons? Did I not love you then? If I have acted 
ill toward others, oh, do not forget that ' at least I have 
been faultless toward you! You once professed to love 
me ; but how have you forgotten your pledge! I — thank- 
less monster! wretch that I am! — have never once forgot- 
ten it ; and I do not wish to forget it, although you do so 
without effort or regret.” 

It is possible,” replied Consuelo, struck by the truth 
which these words seemed to display, that you do in- 
deed regret this lost happiness — lost, destroyed by your 
own misconduct. It is a punishment which you must 
endure, and which I ought not to prevent. Happiness 
corrupted you, Anzoleto, and you require suffering to 


CONSVELO. 


375 


purify you. Go, and remember me, if this affliction prove 
salutary ; if not, forget me, as 1 forget you — I, who have 
nothing either to expiate or atone.” 

^^Ah! you have a heart of iron!” exclaimed Anzoleto, 
surprised and wounded by her tranquility; '^butdonot 
expect thus to drive me away. It is possible that I annoy 
you, and that I am here somewhat in the way. You 
would sacrifice, I know, the memory of the past to rank 
and fortune. But it shall not be so. I will stay with 
you ; and if I lose you it shall not be without a struggle. 
I will recall the past, and tliat too before all your new 
friends, if you force me to it. I will repeat the oaths 
which you made at the bedside of your dying mother, and 
which you repeated a hundred times on her tomb and in 
the churches where we knelt side by side, listened to the 
music, and conversing in whispers. I will tell your new 
lover that of which he is not aware — for they know nothing 
of you, not even that you were an actress. Yes, I will tell 
them ; and we shall see if the noble Count Albert will dis- 
pute you with an actor, your friend, your equal, your 
betrothed, your lover. Ah! do not drive me to despair, 
Consuelo, or ” 

‘‘What! threats?” said the angry maiden; “at last I 
have found you out, Anzoleto. I rejoice at it, and I thank 
you for having raised the mask. Yes, thanks to Heaven! 
I shall regret and pity you no more. I see the venom 
which rankles within your heart ; I recognize your base- 
ness and your hateful love. Go, wreak your vengeance — 
you will only do me a service ; but unless you are equally 
expert in calumny as in insult, you cannot say any thing 
to make me blush.” 

Thus saying, she retreated to the door, opened it, and 
was just leaving the room when she met Count Christian. 
Anzoleto, who had rushed forward to detain her by force 
or cunning, on seeing the venerable old man, who ad- 
vanced with an affable and majestic air after having kissed 
Consuelo's hand, fell back intimidated and bereft of his 
audacity. 


376 


CONSUELO, 


CHAPTER LIX. 

^^Dear signora/" said the old count, ^'pardon me 
for not having more courteously received your brother. I 
had forbidden them to interrupt me, as I had some im- 
portant business to transact this morning, and they obeyed 
my directions too faithfully in thus leaving me in ignor- 
ance of the arrival of a guest so welcome to me and all my 
family. Be assured, sir,"" added he, turning to Anzoleto, 

that I am happy to see in my house so near a relative of our 
beloved Porporina. I trust, therefore, that you will remain 
here as long as may be agreeable to you. I presume that 
after so long a separation you must have much to say to 
each other, and I hope you will not hesitate to enjoy at 
leisure a happiness in which I sincerely sympathize."" 

Contrary to his usual custom. Count Christian spoke to a 
stranger with ease. His timidity had long since disap- 
peared toward the gentle Consuelo, and on this day a vivid 
ray of joy seemed to illumine his counten^ince, like those 
which the sun sheds before sinking beneath the horizon. 
Anzoleto was confused in the presence of that majesty 
which rectitude and serenity of soul reflect upon the brow 
of an aged and venerable man. He was well skilled to 
bow low before the nobles of his native land, but in his 
inmost soul he hated and mocked them. He had found 
only too much to despise in them, and in the fashionable 
world in which he had for some time lived. He had never 
before seen dignity so lofty, and politeness so cordial, as 
those of the old chatelain of Riesenburg. He stammered 
forth his thanks, and almost repented having procured by 
an imposition, the kind and fatherly reception with which 
he was greeted. He feared above all lest Consuelo should 
unmask him, by declaring to the count that he was not 
her brother, and he felt that he could not at this mo- 
ment repay her with impertinence, and study his revenge. 

I feel much gratified by your lordship"s goodness,"" 
replied Consuelo, after an instant’s reflection; but my 
brother, who is deeply sensible of its value, cannot have 
the happiness of profiting by it. Pressing business calls 
him to Prague, and he has just this moment taken leave 
of me."" 

Impossible ! you have hardly seen each other an in- 
stant,"" said the count. 


C0N8UEL0. 


377 


He has lost several hours in waiting for me/^ replied 
she, ^^and his moments are nowcounted. He knows very 
well,^^ added she, looking at her pretended brother with 
a significant expression, ^Hhat he cannot remain here 
a minute longer/^ 

This cold determination restored to Anzoleto all his 
hardihood and effrontery. ^‘Let what will happen,’^ said 
he, ‘‘I take the devil — I mean God,^' he added, recovering 
himself — to witness, that I will not leave my dear sister 
so hastily as her reason and prudence require. I know of 
no business that is worth an instant of such happiness; 
and since my lord the count so generously permits me, I 
accept his invitation with gratitude. I shall remain, there- 
fore, and my engagements at Prague must be fulfilled a 
little later, that is all.'’’ 

That is speaking like a thoughtless young man,” re- 
turned Consuelo, offended. There are some affairs in 
which honor calls more loudly than interest.” 

^Tt is speaking like a brother,” replied Anzoleto, ‘‘but 
you always speak so like a queen, my good little sister.” 

“It is spoken like a good young man!” added the old 
count, holding out his hand to Anzoleto. “ I know of no 
business which cannot be put off till the morrow. It is 
true that I have always been reproached for my indolence; 
but I have invariably found that more is lost by hastiness 
than by reflection. For example, my dear Porporina, it 
is now several days, I might say weeks, since I have had 
a request to make of you, and I have delayed it until now. 
I believe I have done well, and that the proper moment 
has arrived. Can you grant me to-day the hour’s conver- 
sation I was just about to request when I was informed 
of your brother’s arrival ? It seems to me that this 
happy circumstance has occurred quite apropos, and per- 
haps he would not be out place in the conference I pro- 
pose.” 

“ I am always, and at all hours, at your lordship’s com- 
mand,” answered Consuelo. “As to my brother, he is 
yet a mere child, and I do not usually entrust him with 
my private affairs.” 

“I know that very well,” returned Anzoleto, impu- 
dently; “but as my lord count authorizes me, I do not 
require any other permission than his to join in your con- 
ference.” 


378 


G0N8UEL0. 


You will permit me to judge of wluit is proper for 
you and for myself/^ repHed Oonsuelo, haughtily. My 
lord count, I am ready to follow you to your apartment, 
and to listen to you with respect.” 

You are very severe with this young man, who has so 
frank and cheerful an air,” said the count, smiling; then 
turning toward Anzoleto: ^^Do not be impatient, my 
child,” said he, ‘‘your turn will come. What I have to 
say to your sister cannot be concealed from you, and soon, 
I hope, she will permit me to confide it to you.” 

Anzoleto had the impertinence to reply to the unsuspect- 
ing gaiety of the old man, by retaining his hand in his 
own, as if he wished to attach himself to him, and dis- 
cover the secret from which Consuelo excluded him. He 
had not the good taste to perceive that he ought at least 
to have left the saloon, in order to spare him the necessity 
of doing so. When he found himself alone, he stamped 
with anger, fearing lest this young girl, now so collected 
and self-possessed, should disconcert all his plans, and 
cause him to be dismissed in spite of ,his address. He 
longed to glide steathily through the house, and listen at 
all the doors. He left the saloon with this purpose, 
wandered in the gardens for a few moments, then ventured 
into the galleries, pretending, whenever he met a domestic, 
to be admiring the beautiful architecture of the chdteau. 
But at three different times he saw passing, at some 
distance, a personage dressed in black, and singularly 
grave, whose attention he was not very desirous oi 
attracting. It was Albert, who appeared not to remark 
him, and yet who never lost sight of him. Anzoleto, 
seeing that he was a full head taller than himself, and 
observing the serious beauty of his features, perceived 
plainly that he had not so despicable a rival as he had at 
first thought, in the person of the madman of Riesenburg. 
He therefore decided to return to the saloon, and com- 
menced trying his fine voice in the lofty apartment, as he 
passed his fingers absently over the keys of the harpsichord. 

“ My daughter,” said Count Christian to Consuelo, after 
having led her to his study, and placed a large arm-chair 
for her, covered with red velvet with gold fringes, while 
he seated himself on an easy chair by her side, “ I have a 
favor to ask of you, and yet I know not by what right I 
can do so while you are yet in ignorance of my intentions. 


CONsriELO. 


379 


May I flatter myself that my gray hairs, my tender esteem 
for you, and the friendship of the noble Porpora your 
adopted father, will inspire you with sufficient confidence 
in me to induce you to open your heart without reserve?"’ 

Affected and yet somewhat terrified at this commence- 
ment, Consuelo raised the old man’s hand to her lips, and 
frankly replied, My lord count, I love and respect you as 
if I had the honor and happiness to be your daughter, and 
I can answer all your questions without fear and without 
evasion, in whatever concerns me personally.” 

I will ask you nothing else, my dear daughter, and I 
thank you for this promise. Believe me, I am as incapable 
of abusing your confidence, as I believe you incapable of 
breaking your pledge.” 

“ I do believe it, my lord. Be pleased to speak.” 

Well, then, my child,” said the old man, encour- 
agingly, ^^what is your name?” 

I have none,” replied Consuelo, frankly; my mother 
was called Rosmunda. At my baptism they named me 
Maria of Consolation; I never knew my father.” 

^^But you are acquainted with his name?” 

“ No, signor; I never heard him spoken of.” 

'‘ Has Master Porpora adopted you? has he given you 
his name by any legal act?” 

“ No, signor ; among artists these things are not 
thought of. My generous master possesses nothing, and 
has nothing to bequeath. As to his name, it was unim- 
portant in my situation whether I adopted it from custom 
or otherwise. If my talents justify it, it will be well; if 
not, I shall be unworthy of the honor of bearing it.” 

The count was silent for some moments; then taking 
Consuelo’s hand: 

“Your noble candor,” said he, “gives me a yet higher 
opinion of you. Do not think that I ask these particulars 
in order to esteem you more or less according to your con- 
dition and birth. I wished to ascertain if you had any 
disinclination to tell the truth, and I see you have none. 
I am infinitely indebted to you; you are more ennobled by 
your character than we are by our birth and titles.” 

Consuelo smiled at the simplicity of the old patrician, 
who wondered that she could, without blushing, make so 
plain a declaration. There was apparent in his conduct a 
remnant of aristocratic prejudice, all the more tenacious 


380 CONSUELO. 

that Christian had nobly combated and evidently desired 
to vanquish it. > 

^^Now,” said he, must put a question yet more 
delicate, and I require all your indulgence to excuse me.'''’ 

‘^Fear nothing, signor; I shall reply frankly.” 

‘MVell, then, my child, you are not married?” 

^^No, signor.” 

And— — you are not a widow — you have no children?^^ 

I am not a widow — I have no children,” replied Con- 
suelo, who had a great inclination to laugh, although not 
well knowing what the count's drift was. 

^^And you are not engaged to anyone? you are per- 
fectly free?” 

Pardon, signor ; I was engaged with the consent, even 
by the command, of my dying mother, to a young man 
whom I loved since childhood, and to whom I was 
betrothed up to the period of my quitting Venice.” 

‘‘ Then you are engaged?” said the count, with a singular 
mixture of vexation and satisfaction. 

No, signor, I am perfectly free,” replied Consuelo. 
''He whom I loved, unworthily betrayed his faith, and I 
left him forever.” 

" Then you did love him?” said the count, after a pause. 

"From my heart.” 

"And perhaps you love him still?” 

" No, signor, that is impossible.” 

"Then you have no wish to see him again?” 

" It would be a torment to me. But since I am called 
upon to confess fully, as I do not wish to take any advantage 
of your esteem for me I shall inform you of every thing. 
We lived together as children, followed the same amuse- 
ments, drank from the same cup, we were ever together, 
we loved each other, and we were to be married. I had 
sworn to my mother to be prudent; I have kept my word, 
if indeed it be prudent to believe in a man who wished to 
deceive me, and repose confidence, affection, esteem, where 
they were not deserved. When he proved himself to be 
faithless, I tore him from my heart. This man without 
honor may indeed tell a different tale, but that is of no 
great importance to one in my humble position. Provided 
I sing well, nothing more is required of me. While I can 
pray without remorse before the crucifix on which I have 
sworn to my mother, I need not trouble myself as to what 


CONSUELO. 


381 


is thought of me. There is no one to blush on my ac- 
count; no brothers, no cousins, to fight for my sake.'’^ 

‘^No brothers? but you have a brother?^^ 

Consuelo was on the paint of confiding all to the old 
count, under the seal of secrecy ; but she feared it would 
be base to seek any extrinsic defense against one who had 
so meanly threatened her. She thought that she herself 
should have the firmness to defend and deliver herself 
from the pursuit of Anzoleto. Besides, her generous soul 
recoiled at the idea of having the man expelled whom she 
had so faithfully loved. Whatever courtesy Count Chris- 
tian might display in this case toward Anzoleto, how- 
ever culpable the latter might be, she had not courage 
to subject him to such indignity. She replied therefore 
that she looked upon her brother as a person of little un- 
derstanding, whom she was accustomed to treat as a 
child. 

^‘But he is not surely an ill-conducted person?’^ said the 
count. 

Possibly,” she replied; have little intercourse with 
him. Our characters and modes of thinking are quite 
diiferent. Your highness might have observed that I was 
not anxious to detain him here.” 

It shall be as you wish, my child ; you have an excel- 
lent judgment ; and now that you have confided every 
thing to me with such noble frankness ” 

Pardon me, signor,” said Consuelo ; “I have not told 
you every thing, because you have not asked me. I am 
ignorant of your motives in putting these questions to me, 
but I presume that some one has spoken unfavorably of 
me, and that you wish to know if I am a discredit to your 
household. Hitherto your inquiries have been of so gen- 
eral a nature that I should have felt myself wanting in 
propriety if 1 had spoken of my affairs without your per- 
mission. But since you wish to know me thoroughly, I 
must mention a circumstance that will perhaps injure me 
in your estimation. It is not only possible, as you have 
often suspected, though I had no wish for it myself, that 
I should have embraced a theatrical career, but it is as- 
serted that I appeared last season at Venice, under the 
name of Consuelo. I was called the Zingarella, and all 
Venice was acquainted with my appearance and my 
voice,” 


382 


C0N8UEL0. 


** Ha!” exclaimed the count, astounded at this new reve- 
lation; ^^you are then the wonder that created so great a 
sensation at Venice last year, and whom the Italian papers 
so often and so highly eulogized? The finest voice, the 
most splended talents, that had appeared within the mem- 
ory of man ” 

Upon the theater of San Samuel, my lord. Those 
eulogiums were without doubt exaggerated ; but it is an 
incontestible fact that I am that same Consuelo, that I 
sang in several operas — in one word, that I am an actress, 
or, to use a more polite term, a cantatrice. You can now 
judge if I deserve to retain your good opinion.” 

This is very extraordinary ! what a strange destiny!” 
said the count, absorbed in thought. Have you told this 
to — to any one besides me, my child?” 

“ I have told. nearly all to the count your son, my lord, 
although I did not enter into the details you have just 
heard.” 

‘‘ So Albert knows your birth, your former love, your 
profession?” 

Yes, my lord.” 

It is well, my dear signora. I cannot thank you 
warmly enough for the admirable straightforwardness of 
your conduct toward us, and I promise you that you will 
have no reason to repent it. Now, Consuelo — (yes, I re- 
member that was the name Albert gave you on your first 
coming, when he talked Spanish to you) — permit me to 
collect my thoughts a little. I feel deeply agitated. We 
have still many things to say to each other, and you must 
forgive a little anxiety on my part in coming to so grave a 
decision. Have the goodness to wait here for me an in- 
stant.” 

He left the room, and Consuelo, following him with her 
eyes, saw him, through the glazed glass doors, enter his 
oratory and kneel down with fervor. 

Herself greatly agitated, she was lost in conjectures as to 
the object of a conversation which was ushered in with so 
much solemnity. At first she thought that Anzoleto, 
while waiting for her, had out of spite already done what 
he had threatened; that he had been talking to the chap- 
lain or Hans, and that the manner in which he had spoken 
of her, had excited grave suspicions in the minds of her 
hosts. But Count Christian could not dissemble, and 


CONSUELO, 


383 


hitherto his manner and his words had announced in- 
creased affection, rather than a feeling of mistrust. Be- 
sides, the frankness of her answers had affected him as un- 
expected revelations would have done ; the last especially 
had seemed to strike him like a flash of lightning. And 
now he was praying, he was asking God to enlighten and 
sustain him in the accomplishment of a great resolution. 

Is he about to ask me to leave the house with my brother? 
Is he about to offer me money?’’ she asked herself. Ah! 
may God preserve me from that insult! But no! this good 
old man is too highminded, too good, to dream of humili- 
ating me. What did he mean to say at first, and what can 
he mean to say now? Most probably my long walk with 
his son may have given him uneasiness, and he is about to 
scold me. I have deserved it perhaps, and I will submit 
to his rebuke, since I cannot answer sincerely the ques- 
tions which may be asked me respecting Albert. This is a 
trying day; my chest feels all on fire, and my throat is 
parched.” 

Count Christian soon returned. He was calm, and his 
pale countenance bore witness of a victory obtained over 
himself from a noble motive. My daughter,” said he to 
Consuelo, reseating himself beside her, and insisting on 
her retaining the sumptuous arm-chair which she had 
wished to yield to him, and on which she seemed enthroned, 
in spite of herself; it is time that I should respond by 
my frankness to the openness and confidence which you 
have testified toward me. Consuelo, my son loves you.” 

Consuelo became pale and red by turns. She attempted 
to answer, but Christian interrupted her. 

^^Itisnot a question which I ask you,” said he. 
should have no right to do so, and perhaps you would have 
none to answer me; for I know that you have not in any 
way encouraged Albert’s hopes. He has told me all; and 
I believe him, for he has never told a falsehood, nor I 
either.” 

^^Hor I either,” said Consuelo, raising her eyes to 
heaven with an expression of mingled humility and pride. 

Count Albert must have told you, my lord ” 

That you have repelled every idea of a union with 
him.” 

It was my duty. I knew the usages and the ideas of 
the world ; I knew tliat I was not made to be Count Al- 


384 . 


CONSVELO, 


bert’s wife, for the sole reason that I esteem myself inferior 
to no person under God, and that I would not receive 
grace or favor from any one on earth.” 

‘‘ I know your just pride, Consuelo. I should consider 
it exaggerated, if Albert had been alone in the world; but 
believing as you did that I would not approve of such a 
union, you were right to answer as you have done.” 

‘^And now, my lord,” said Consuelo, rising, I under- 
stand what you are about to add, and beseech you to spare 
me the humiliation- 1 feared. I will leave your house, as I 
would before this have left it, if I had thought I could do 
so without endangering the reason and perhaps the life of 
Count Albert, over whom I have more influence than I 
could have wished. Since you know what it was not per- 
mitted me to reveal to you, you can watch over him, pre- 
vent the bad effects of this separation, and resume the ex- 
ercise of a care which belongs to you ratlier than to me. 
If I arrogated it to myself indiscreetly, it is a fault which 
God will forgive me ; for He knows by what pure and 
disinterested feelings I was actuated.” 

I know it,” returned the count, and God has spoken 
to my conscience, as Albert has spoken to my heart. Sit 
down therefore, Consuelo, and do not be hasty in con- 
demning my intentions. It was not to order you to quit 
my house, but to beseech you from my inmost soul to 
remain in it all your life, that I asked you to listen to me.” 

All my life?” replied Consuelo, falling back upon her 
chair, divided between the satisfaction she felt at this rep- 
aration made to her dignity, and the terror which such an 
offer caused her. All my life ! your lordship cannot 
mean what you are kind enough to say.” 

'^I have thought seriously on it, my daughter,” replied 
the count, with a melancholy smile, ‘‘and I feel that I 
shall not repent it. My son loves you to distraction, and 
you have complete power over his soul. It is you who re- 
stored him to me, you who ventured to seek him in some 
mysterious place which he will not disclose to me, but into 
which he says no one but a mother or a saint would have 
dared to penetrate. It is you who risked your life to save 
him from the gloomy seclusion and delirium which con- 
sumed him, Thanks to you he has ceased to cause us hor- 
rible anxiety by his absences. It is you who have restored 
him to calmness, health — in a word, to reason. For it must 


C0N8UEL0. 


385 


not be dissembled that my poor boy was mad, and it is cer- 
tain that he is so no longer. We have passed nearly the 
whole night together, and he has displayed to me a wisdom 
superior to mine. I knew that yon were to walk with him 
this morning, and I therefore authorized him to ask of you 
that which you refused to hear. You were afraid of me, 
dear Consuelo ; you thought that the old Rudolstadt, 
encased in his aristocratic prejudices, would be ashamed to 
owe his son to you. Well ! you were mistaken. The old 
Rudolstadt has had pride and prejudices without doubt ; 
perhaps he has them still — he will not conceal his faults 
before you — but he now abjures them, and in the transport 
of a boundless gratitude, he thanks you for having restored 
to him his last, his only child So saying. Count Chris- 
tian took both of Consuelo^s hands in his, and covered 
them with kisses and tears. 


CHAPTER LX. 

Consuelo was deeply affected by an explanation which 
restored to her her self-respect, and tranquilized her con- 
science. Until this moment she had often feared that she 
had imprudently yielded to the dictates of her generosity 
and her courage, but now she received their sanction and 
recompense. Her joyful tears mingled with those of the 
old man, and they both remained for some time too deeply 
agitated to continue the conversation. 

Nevertheless Consuelo did not yet understand the propo- 
sition which had been made to her, and the count, think- 
ing that he had sufficiently explained himself, regarded 
her silence and her tqars as signs of assent and gratitude. 

I will go,^^ said he at last, ‘^and bring my son to your 
feet, in order that he may unite his blessings with mine on 
learning the extent of his- happiness.'’^ 

^^Stop, my lord!” said Consuelo, astonished at this 
haste. I do not understand what you require of me. 
You approve of the attachment which Count Albert has 
manifested for me, and my gratitude and devotion toward 
him. You have given me your confidence, you know that 
I will not betray it; but how can I engage to consecrate my 
whole life to a friendship of so delicate a nature ? I see 


00N8VEL0. 


m 

clearly that you depend on time and my reason to preserve 
you son^s health of mind and to calm the enthusiasm of 
his attachment for me. But I do not know if I shall long 
have that power ; and even if such an intimacy were not 
dangerous for so excitable a nature as his, I am not free 
to devote my days to that glorious task. I am not my 
own mistress.^' 

0 Heavens! what do you say, Consuelo ? Did you not 
understand me, then? Or did you deceive me in saying 
that you were free, that you had no attachment of the 
heart, no engagement, no family?” 

^^But, my lord,” said Consuelo, stupified, I have an 
object, a vocation, a calling; I belong to tlie art to which I 
have devoted myself since my childhood.” 

Great Heavens! what do you say? Do you wish to re- 
turn to the stage?” 

On that point I am not decided, and I spoke the truth 
in affirming that my inclination did not lead me thither. 
I have hitherto experienced only excruciating suffer- 
ings in that stormy career, but I feel nevertheless that 
I should be rash in resolving to renounce it. It has been 
my destiny, and perhaps I cannot withdraw myself from 
the future which has been traced out for me. Whether I 
again appear on the stage, or only give lessons and con- 
certs, I am still — I must be — a singer. What should I he 
good for otherwise ? Where can I attain independence? 
In what pursuit can I occupy my mind, accustomed as it is 
to labor and nursed by sweet sounds?” 

0 Consuelo, Consuelo!” cried Count Christian, sadly, 
what you say is too true. But I thought you loved my 
son, and now I see that you do not love him!” 

And what if I should learn to love him with the pas- 
sion which I must feel in order to sacrifice myself for him, 
my lord?” cried Consuelo, grovving impatient in her turn. 

Do you think it absolutely impossible fora woman to 
feel love for Count Albert that you ask me to remain 
always with him?” 

^‘What! can I have explained myself so badly, or do 
you think me crazy, dear Consuelo? Have I not asked 
your heart and your hand for my son? Have I not placed at 
your feet a legitimate and certainly an honorable alliance? 
If you loved Albert, you would doubtless find in the 
happiness of sharing his life a sufficient recompense for 


C0N8UEL0. 


387 


the loss of your glory and your triumphs. But you do not 
love him, since you consider it impossible to renounce what 
you call your destiny!’^ 

This explanation had been tardy, even without the good 
Christian being aware of it. It was not without a mixture 
of terror and of extreme repugnance that the old nobleman 
had sacrificed to the happiness of his son all the ideas 
which he had cherished through life, all the prejudices of 
his caste; and even when, after a long and painful struggle 
with Albert and with himself, he had completed the sacri- 
fice, he could not without an effort pronounce the absolute 
ratification of so terrible an act. 

Consuelo perceived or guessed this; for at the moment 
when Count Christian appeared to despair of obtaining her 
consent to this marriage, there certainly was upon the old 
maiTs countenance an expression of involuntary joy, 
mingled with strange consternation. 

Consuelo understood her situation in an instant, and a 
feeling of pride, perhaps a little too personal, served to in- 
crease her repugnance for the match proposed to her. 

‘‘You wish that I should marry Count Albert?^^ said 
she, still stunned by so strange a proposal. “ You consent 
to call me daughter, give me your name, present me to 
your relatives and friends? Ah, my lord, how very deeply 
you love your son, and how much should your son love 
you 

“If you find so much generosity in that, Consuelo, it is 
because your heart cannot conceive an equal amount, or 
that the object does not appear to you wortliy of it.^^ 

“My lord,” replied Consuelo, endeavoring to collect her 
thoughts, and hiding her face in her hands, “ I must be 
dreaming. My pride is roused despite of my efforts at the 
idea of the humiliation to which I would be exposed should 
I accept the sacrifice suggested by your paternal love.” 

“And who would dare to offer them, Consuelo, when 
father and son should unite in shielding you with their le- 
gitimate segis of protection?” 

“And the canoness, my lord? she who fills here the post 
of a mother, would she see all that unmoved?” 

“ She would join her prayers to ours, if you promise to 
allow yourself to be persuaded. Do not ask more than the 
weakness of human nature can grant. A lover, a father, 
can undergo the grief and humiliation of a refusal ; my 


388 


CONSUELO. 


sister could not. But with the certainty of success, we 
shall lead her to your arms.^^ 

My lord/^ said Consuelo, trembling, 'Mid Count Al- 
bert inform you that I loved him?’’ 

"'No,” replied the count, suddenly recollecting himself; 
"Albert assured me the obstacle would be in your 
own heart; he has told me so a hundred times, but I could 
not believe him. Your reserve appeared to be founded on 
rectitude and delicacy, but I thought that in removing 
your scruples, I should obtain the avowal you refused to 
him.” 

"And what did he mention of our walk to-day?” 

"A single word; " Try, my father; it is the only way of 
ascertaining whether pride or estrangement closes her 
heart against me.’” 

"Alas, my lord, what will you think when I say that I 
do not know myself ?” 

"I must think that it is estrangement, my dear Con- 
suelo. Oh, my son, what a destiny is thine! You cannot 
gain the love of the only woman on whom you could 
bestow your own. This last misfortune is all that was 
needed.” 

" Oh, Heavens ! you must hate me, my lord. You do 
not understand that my pride resists, when yours is over- 
come. Perhaps the pride of a person in my situation may 
appear to have slight foundation, and yet at this moment 
there is as violent a combat waging in my heart, as that in 
which you yourself have proved victorious.” 

" I know it. Do not think, signora, that I so lightly 
esteem modesty, rectitude, and disinterestedness, as not to 
appreciate your lofty feelings. But what paternal love 
can overcome, I think woman’s love may do also; you see, 
I speak without reserve. AYell, suppose that Albert’s 
whole life, yours, and mine, should prove a continual 
struggle against the prejudices of the world ; sup- 
pose we were to suffer long and much, would not our 
mutual tenderness, the approval of our conscience, and the 
fruits of our devotion render us stronger than this world 
united? Toils which seem heavy to you and to us, are 
lightened by devoted love. But this love you timidly 
seek in the depths of your soul, and do not find, Consuelo, 
because it is not there.” 

"Yes, that is indeed the question,” said Consuelo, 


C0N8UEL0. 


389 


pressing her hands upon her heart; the rest is nothing. 
I, too, had prejudices; your example proves that I ought 
to overcome them and be great and heroic like you. Let 
us then speak no more of my aversion, my false shame. 
Let us not even speak of the future — of my profession,” 
added she sighing deeply. I could renounce all — if — if 
I loved Albert. This is what I must find out. Listen to 
me, my lord. I have asked myself this question a hun- 
dred times, but never so seriously as I now can with your 
consent. How could I seriously interrogate myself when 
even the question seemed a madness and a crime? Now I 
think I may know and decide, but I ask a few days to 
collect my thoughts, to discover whether this devotion 
which I experience toward him, the unlimited esteem, 
great good-will and respect which his virtues inspire, the 
extraordinary sympathy and strange power which he 
exercises over me, be love or admiration; for I experience 
all this, and yet it is combated by an indefinable terror, 
profound sadness, and — I shall tell you every thing, my 
noble friend — by the memory of a love less enthusiastic, 
but far more sweet and tender, and in nothing resembling 
this.” 

Strange and noble girl !” replied Christian with 
emotion, what wisdom and at the same time what 
strange ideas, in your words and thoughts! You resemble 
my poor Albert in many respects, and the agitation and 
uncertainty of your feelings recall to me my wife — my 
noble, my beautiful, my melancholy Wanda! 0, Con- 
suelo! you awaken in me a recollection at once tender and 
bitter in the extreme. I was about to say to you: sur- 
mount these irresolutions, triumph over these dislikes, 
love — from virtue, from greatness of soul, from compas- 
sion, from the effort of a noble and pious charity — this 
poor man who adores you, and who, while perhaps mak- 
ing you unhappy, will owe his salvation to you, and will 
entitle you to a heavenly recompense. But you have 
recalled to my mind his mother — his mother, who gave 
herself to me from duty and from friendship. She could 
not feel for me, a simple, gentle, timid man, the enthu- 
siasm with which her imagination burned. Still she was 
faithful and generous to the last ; but how she suffered ! 
Alas! her affection was at once my joy and my punish- 
ment ; her constancy, my pride and my remorse, Slie 


390 


C0N8UEL0. 


died in suffering, and my heart was broken forever. And 
now, if I am a useless being, worn out, dead before being 
buried, do not be too much astonished, Consuelo. I have 
suffered what no one has ever known, what I have never 
spoken to any one, and what I now confess to you with 
trembling. Ah ! rather than induce you to make such a 
sacrifice, rather than advise Albert to accept it, may my 
eyes close in sadness and my son at once sink under his sad 
fate. I know too well the cost of endeavoring to force 
nature and combating the insatiable desires of the soul. 
Take time therefore to reflect, my daughter, added the 
old count, pressing Consuelo to his breast, which heaved 
with emotion, and kissing her noble brow with a father's 
love. It will be much better so. If you must refuse, 
Albert, when prepared by anxious uncertainty, will not be 
so utterly prostrated as he would now be by the frightful 
news.'' 

They separated with this understanding; and Consuelo, 
stealing through the galleries in fear of meeting Aiizoleto, 
shut herself up in her chamber, overpowered with emotion 
and fatigue. 

At first she endeavored to take a little rest, in order to 
attain the calmness which she felt to be necessary. She 
felt exhausted, and, throwing lierself on her bed, she sooh 
fell into a state of torpor, which was more painful than 
refreshing. She had wished to go to sleep while thinking 
of Albert, in order that in her dreams she might perhaps 
be visited with one of tliose mysterious revelations which 
sometimes serve to guide and mature our decisions. But 
the interrupted dreams which she had for several hours, 
constantly recalled Anzoleto, instead of Albert, to her 
thouglits. It was always Venice, always the Corte Minelli, 
always her first love, calm, smiling, and poetic ! 

Every time she awoke, the remembrance of Albert was 
connected with the gloomy grotto ; or the sound of his 
violin, echoing ten-fold in the solitude, evoked the dead, 
and wailed over the freshly closed tomb of Zdenko. Fear 
and sorrow thus closed her heart against the impulses of 
affection. The future which was required of her, seemed 
filled with chill darkness and bloody visions, while the 
radiant and fruitful past occupied all her thoughts, and 
caused her heart to beat. It seemed then as if she heard 
her voice echoing in space, filling all nature, and mount- 


OOirsVMLO, 


m 


iug upward even to the immeasurable heavens; but when the 
sounds of the violin recurred to her memory, it seemed as 
if her voice became hoarse and hollow, and died away in 
mournful wailings in the depths of the earth. 

These wandering visions fatigued her so much that she 
rose in order to dispel them; the first sound of the bell in- 
formed her that dinner would be served in half an hour, 
and she went to her toilet, her mind still full of the same 
ideas. But how strange! — for the first time in her life she 
was more attentive to the mirror, and the adjustment of 
her attire, than to the serious problems she would fain re- 
solve. She made herself beautiful in spite of herself, and 
wished to be so. It was not to awaken jealousy in rival 
lovers that this coquettish whim had seized her, for she 
thought and could think only of one. Albert had never 
made an allusion to her appearance. In the enthusiasm of 
passion he perhaps deemed her more beautiful than she 
was; but his thoughts were so devoted and his love so 
great, that he would have considered it profanation to have 
looked at her with the intoxicated gaze of a lover or the 
satisfied scrutiny of an artist. To him she was always en- 
veloped in a cloud which his gaze never dared to penetrate, 
and in his thoughts she was ever surrounded by a beaming 
halo. Whatever she was, he saw her always the same. lie 
had seen her half dead, emaciated, prostrate, more like a 
specter than a woman. He had then sought in her feat- 
ures with anxiety and attention for the evidence of disease; 
but he never seemed to perceive moments of ugliness, or 
dream that she could be an object of terror or disgust. 
And now that she had recovered the splendor of youth and 
health, he had never inquired of himself whether she had 
lost or gained in beauty. She was all to him in life as in 
death, the ideal of youth, beauty, and sublimity. There- 
fore Consuelo had never thought of him while arranging 
her dress before the mirror. 

But how different was it with Anzoleto ! how carefully 
had he examined, judged, and compared, on the day that 
he sought to find if she were ugly. He had taken into 
account the slightest graces of her form, the least efforts 
she had made to please. How well was he acquainted with 
her hair, her arms, her feet, her walk, the colors wliich be- 
came her, even the least fold of her garment ; and with 
what ardent vivacity had he praised her, with wliat volup- 


^9^ 


CONSVELO. 


tuous languor had he contemplated her! The innocent 
girl, indeed, had not then understood the emotions of her 
own heart; nor did she yet understand them, though she 
felt them not the less at the idea of appearing before him. 
She was angry with herself, blushed with shame and vexa- 
tion, and tried to adorn herself for Albert alone, but 
nevertheless, sought out the head-dress, the ribbon, and 
even the very look that pleased Anzoleto. Alas! alas!’^ 
said she, tearing herself from the mirror when her toilet 
was completed : it is true, then, that I can think only 
of him, and that past happiness exercises a greater power 
over me than present scorn and the promise of another 
love! I may look forward to the future, but without him 
it is but terror and despair. What would it be with him? 
Ah! well I know that the days of Venice can never return; 
that innocence can dwell with us no more ; that the soul 
of Anzoleto is utterly corrupt ; that his caresses would de- 
grade me, and that our life would be hourly poisoned by 
shame, jealousy, regret, and fear.'’^ 

Questioning herself on this point with sincerity, Con- 
suelo saw that she was not deceived, and that she had not 
the remotest wish to please Anzoleto. She loved him in- 
deed no longer in the present ; she almost hated and 
feared him as regarded the future, in which his faults 
could only become more aggravated ; but then she cher- 
ished his memory in the past to such a degree, that 
neither in heart nor mind could she sever herself from it. 

Tie was henceforward to her but as a picture which re- 
called the adored object of past happiness ; but, like one 
who hides herself from her new husband to look upon the 
image of the first, she felt that the memory of the past 
was better than the living present. 


CHAPTER LXI. 

CoKSUELO had too much judgment and elevation of 
character not to know that, of the two attachments Avhich 
she inspired, the truest, the most noble, and most 
precious, was beyond all comparison that of Albert. 
Thus, when she again found herself between them, she 
thought she had triumphed over the enemy. The earnest 


CONSUELO. 


393 


look of Albert, which seemed to penetrate lier very soul — 
the gentle yet firm pressure of his faithful hand — gave her 
to understand that he knew the result of her conference 
with Count Christian, and that he waited her decision with 
submission and gratitude. In reality, Albert had ob- 
tained more than he hoped for ; and even this irresolution 
was sweet after what he had feared, so much was he 
astonished at Anzoleto's impertinent folly. The latter, on 
the contrary, was armed with all his boldness. Divining 
pretty nearly the state of matters around him, he was de- 
termined to battle foot by foot, should they even thrust 
him neck and shoulders out of the house. His free and 
easy attitude, and his forward jeering look, inspired Con- 
suelo with the deepest disgust , and when he impudently 
approached to offer his hand to conduct her to the table, 
she turned her head, and took in preference that of 
Albert. 

As usual, the young count seated himself opposite Con- 
suelo, and Count Christian placed her on his left, where 
Amelia had formerly sat. The chaplain^s usual place was 
to the left of Consuelo, but the canoness invited the pre- 
tended brother to seat himself between them, and in this 
way Anzoleto^s sneers could be overheard by Consuelo, and 
his irreverent sallies scandalize the old priest, as he had 
intended. 

Anzoleto^s plan was exceedingly simple. He wished to 
make himself intolerable to that part of the family whom 
he presumed hostile to the projected marriage, so as to 
give them the worst possible impression of the connections 
and birth of Consuelo. ‘MVe shall see,^’ said he, if 
they can swallow the hrotlier that I will cook for them.^^ 

Anzoleto, although a poor singer and tragedian, was yet 
an excellent comic performer. He had seen enough of 
the world to enable liim to imitate with ease the elegant 
manners and language of good society ; but this part 
might have only served to reconcile the canoness to the 
low extraction of Consuelo, and he took the opposite one 
with the more ease that it was natural to him. Being 
well assured that Wenceslawa, notwithstanding her deter- 
mination only to speak German — the language of the 
Court and of all loyal subjects — did not lose a word of 
what he said in Italian, he began to chatter right and left, 
and to quaff the generous wine of Hungary, which, hard- 


394 


CONSUELO. 


ened as he was to the most heady drinks, he did not fear, 
but the lieady influence of which he affected to feel in 
order that he might assume the air of an inveterate 
drunkard. 

He succeeded to admiration. Count Christian, who 
good-humoredly laughed at his first sallies, soon only smiled 
with an effort, and required all his urbanity as a host, as 
well as his paternal affection, to refrain from reproving the 
disagreeable future brother-in-law of his noble son. The 
angry chaplain fidgeted on his seat, and murmured excla- 
mations in German which sounded very like exorcisms, 
while his dinner and digestion were sadly deranged. The 
canoness listened to the insolent guest with suppressed 
contempt and somewhat malignant satisfaction. At every 
fresh outbreak, she raised her eyes toward her brother, as 
if taking him to witness ; and the good Christian, droop- 
ing his head, endeavored to distract the attention of the 
auditors by some awkward enough reflection. Then the 
canoness looked at Albert ; but Albert was immovable — 
he appeared neither to see nor hear the absurd and vain- 
glorious visitor. 

The most cruelly tormented of 'all was undoubtedly poor 
Consuelo. At first she thought that Anzoleto had con- 
tracted these habits in a life of debauchery, for she had 
never seen him thus before. She was so disgusted and 
annoyed that she was about to quit the table ; but when 
she perceived that it was no better than a scheme, she re- 
gained the self-possession suited to her innocence and 
dignity. She had not mixed herself up with the secrets 
and affections of this family to instal herself among them 
by means of intrigue. Their rank had never flattered her 
ambition, and her conscience was secure from the secret 
charges of the canoness. She felt, she knew, that Albert’s 
love and his father’s confidence were superior to this mis- 
erable trial. The contempt which she felt for Anzoleto, 
cowardly and wicked in his vengeance, rendered her still 
more decided ; once only her eyes met those of Albert, 
and they immediately understood each other. Consuelo 
said Yes!” and Albert replied, In spite of all!” 

''It won’t do,” said Anzoleto, in a low tone, to Con- 
suelo ; for he had observed and passed his own comments 
on this interchange of looks. 

" You have done me a great service,” replied Consuelo.: 
^"and I thank you.” 


CONSUELO. 


395 


They spoke in the Venetian dialect, which seems com- 
posed only of vowels, and which the Romans and Floren- 
tines, when they first hear it, cannot always understand. 

“ I can imagine that you hate me,’^ replied Anzoleto, 
‘‘ and that you think you will always hate me, but you 
shall not escape me for all that.^^ 

You have unmasked yourself too soon,” said Consuelo. 

‘^But not too late,” replied Anzoleto, OomQ, padre 
71110 'benedettOy* said he, addressing the chaplain, and giv- 
ing him at the same time a jog, so as to spill half his wine, 
‘‘drink more vigorously of this famous wine, which is 
equally good for body and soul. Signor Count,” said he, ex- 
tending his glass to Count Christian, “ you keep there beside 
your heart a flask of yellow crystal which sparkles like the 
sun. I feel that if I were to swallow but a drop of that 
nectar, that I should be changed into a demigod.” 

“Take care, my child,” said the count, placing his 
wasted and meager hand, covered with rings, on the cut 
neck of the flask; “the wine of old men sometimes closes 
the mouth of the young.” 

“ Your anger has made you as handsome as a young 
witch,” said Anzoleto to Consuelo, in good, clear Italian, 
so that every one could understand him. “You remind 
me of the Diavolessa of Galuppi, which you played so well 
last year at Venice. Ha! Signor Count, do you intend to 
keep" my sister long in this gilt cage, lined with silk? She 
is a singing-bird, I must tell you, and a bird that loses its 
voice soon loses its feathers also. She is well off here, I 
admit ; but the public, who ran crazy after her, want her 
back to them again. As to myself, were you to give me your 
name and your castle, all the wine in your cellar, and 
your chaplain into the Wgain, I would not part with my 
footlights, my buskin, or my roulades.” 

“Then you are an actor "also?” said the canoness, with 
an air of cold contempt. 

“ Comedian and jack-pudding, at your service, illustris- 
sima,'' replied Anzoleto, without being at all disconcerted. 

“ Has he any talent?” asked old Christian, turning to 
Consuelo with a calm and benevolent air. 

“ None whatever,” replied Consuelo, Poking at her 
adversary with an air of pity. 

“If that be true, it is you- who are to blame,” said 
Anzoleto ; ''for I am your pupil. I hope, however,” cou- 


396 


GONSVELO. 


tinned he in Venetian, that I have still enough to frus- 
trate your plans/' 

You will only harm yourself," replied Consuelo in the 
same dialect. ‘‘Base intentions contaminate the heart, 
and yours will suffer more than you could possibly cause 
me to do, in the opinion of others." 

“ I am delighted to see that you accept my challenge. 
To arms then, my fair amazon; it is of no use to lower the 
visor of your casque — I see uneasiness and fear painted in 
your eyes." 

“ Alas! you can only see there profound sorrow for your 
degradation. I hoped to have forgotten the contempt I 
owe you, and you force me to remember it." 

“ Contempt and love often go together." 

“ In mean souls." 

“In the proudest. It has been and always will be so." 

The same scene lasted during the whole of dinner. 
When they retired into the drawing-room, the canoness, 
who appeared determined to amuse herself with Anzoleto's 
impertinence, requested him to sing. He scarcely waited 
to he asked, and after vigorously preluding upon the old 
creaking harpsichord with his sinewy fingers, he thundered 
out one of those songs with which he had been in the habit 
of enlivening Zustiniani's select suppers. The words were 
rather free. The canoness did not understand them, but 
felt herself amused at the force with which he uttered 
them. Count Christian could not avoid being struck with 
the fine voice and wonderful execution of the singer. He 
abandoned himself with artless delight to the pleasure of 
hearing him, and, when the first air was concluded, asked 
for another. Albert, who was seated by the side of Con- 
suelo, appeared deaf to all that passed, and said not a 
word. Anzoleto imagined that he was annoyed, and that 
he at last felt himself surpassed in something. His design 
had been to banish his auditors by his musical improprie- 
ties; but seeing that, whether from the innocence of his 
hosts, or from their ignorance of the language, it was 
labor lost, he gave himself up to the thirst for admiration, 
and sang for Jhe pleasure of singing ; and besides, he 
wished to let Consuelo see that he had improved. He had 
in fact made considerable progress in the species of talent 
lie possessed. His voice had perhaps already lost its origi- 
nal froshness, but he had become more complete master of 


CONSVELO. 


it, and more skillful in the art of overcoming the difficul- 
ties toward which his taste and genius continually led him. 
lie saug well, and received warm eulogiums from Count 
Cliristian, from the canoness, and even from the chaplain, 
who liked display, and who considered Consuelo's manner 
too simple and too natural to be very learned. 

You told us he had no talent,” said the count to the 
latter; ^^you are either too severe or too modest as regards 
your pupil. He has a great deal of talent, and, moreover, 
I recognize in him something of your style and genius.” 

The good Christian wished, by this little triumph of An- 
zoleto’s, to efface the humiliation which his manner of 
conducting himself had caused his pretended sister. He 
tlierefore insisted much upon the merit of the singer, and 
the latter, who loved to shine too well not to be already 
tired of the low part he had played, returned to the harp- 
sichord, after having remarked that Count Albert became 
more and more pensive. The canoness, who dozed a little 
at the long pieces of music, asked for another Venetian 
song; and this time Anzoleto chose one which was in bet- 
ter taste. He knew that the popular airs were those which 
he sang the best. Even Consuelo herself had not the 
piquant accent and dialect in such perfection as he, a child 
of the lagunes, and gifted by nature with high comic 
powers. N 

He counterfeited with so much ease and grace, now 
the rough and frank manner of the fisliermen of Istria, 
now the free and careless nonchalance of the gondoliers of 
Venice, that it was impossible not to look -at and listen to 
him with the liveliest interest. His handsome features, 
flexible and expressive, assumed at one moment the grave 
and bold aspect of the former, at another tlie caressing and 
jesting cheerfulness of the latter mentioned race. His 
somewhat outre and extravagant costume, which smacked 
strongly of Venice, added still more to the illusion, and on 
this occasion improved his personal advantages instead of 
injuring them. Consuelo, at first cold, was soon obliged 
to take refuge in indifference and preoccupation. Her 
emotion gained upon her more and more. She again saw 
all Venice in Anzoleto, and in that Venice the Anzoleto of 
former days, with his gaiety, his innocent love, and his 
childish pride. Her eyes filled with tears, and the merry 
strokes which made the others laugh, penetrated her heart 
with a feeling of deep and tender melancholy. 


39B 


G0N8UEL0, 


When the songs were ended. Count Christian asked for 
sacred music. Oh, as for tliat,” said Anzoleto, I 
know every thing which is sung at Venice ; but they are all 
arranged for two voices, and unless my sister, who knows 
them also, will consent to sing with me, I shall not be able 
to comply with your highness’ commands.” 

They all entreated Consuelo to sing. She refused for a 
long time, although she felt tempted to do so. At length, 
yielding to the request of Count Christian, who wished to 
induce her to be on good terms with her brother by seem- 
ing so himself, she seated herself beside Anzoleto, and 
began in a trembling voice one of those long hymns in two 
parts, divided into strophes of three verses, which are 
heard at Venice during the festivals' of the church, and all 
the night long before the images of the madonnas at every 
comer. The rhythm is rather lively than otherwise, but in 
the monotony of the burden and in the poetical turn of the 
words, in which there is somewhat of a pagan expression, 
there is a sweet melancholy that gains upon the hearer by 
degrees, and carries him away. 

Consuelo sang in a soft and mellow voice, in imitation of 
the women of Venice, and Anzoleto in one somewhat rough 
and guttural, like the young men of the same locality. 
He improvised at the same time on the harpsichord, 
a low, uninterrupted, yet cheerful accompaniment, which 
reminded his companion of the murmuring waters of the 
lagunes, and the sighing of the winds among the reeds. 
She imagined herself in Venice during one of its lovely 
summer nights,' kneeling before one of the little chapels, 
covered with vines, and lighted by the feeble rays of a 
lamp reflected from the rippled waters of the canal. Oh! 
wliat a difference between this vision of Venice, with its 
blue sky, its gentle melodies, its azure waves sparkling in 
the liglit of rapid flambeaus, or dotted with shining stars, 
and tlie harrowing emotions inspired by Albert’s violin, on 
the margin of the dark, motionless, and haunted waters. 
Anzoleto had wakened up this magniflcent vision, full of 
ideas of life and liberty; while the caverns and the wild 
and dreary hymns of old Bohemia, the heaps of bones on 
which flashed the light of torches, reflected on waters lilled 
perhaps with the same sad relics, and in the riiidst of all 
these, the pale yet impassioned form of the ascetic Albert — 
the symbol of a hidden world — and the painful emotions 


OONSUELO. 


m 


arising from his incomprehensible fascination— were too 
much for the peaceful soul of the simple-minded Consuelo. 
Her southern origin, still more than her education, revolted 
at this initiation into a love so stern and forbidding. 
Albert seemed to her the genius of the north — deep, earn- 
est, sublime, but ever sorrowful — like the frozen night- 
winds or the subterranean voices of winter torrents. His 
was a dreamy inquiring soul that sought into every thing — 
the stormy nights, the course of meteors, the wild har- 
monies of the forests, and the half-obliterated inscriptions 
of ancient tombs. Anzoleto, on the contrary, hot and 
fiery, was the image of the sunny south, drawing its in- 
spiration from its rapid and luxuriant growth, and its 
pride from the riches hidden in its bosom. His was a life 
of sensation and feeling, drinking in pleasure at all his 
pores, artistic, rejoicing, careless, fancy-free, ignorant and 
indifferent alike as to good or ill, easily amused, heedless 
of reflection — in a word, the enemy and the antipodes of 
thought. 

Between these two men, so diametrically opposed to each 
other, Consuelo was lifeless and inactive as a soul without 
a body. She loved the beautiful, thirsted after the ideal. 
Albert taught and offered it to her; but, arrested in the 
development of his genius by disease, he had given himself 
up too much to a life of thought. He knew so little the 
necessities of actual life, that he almost forgot his own 
existence. He never supposed that the gloomy ideas and 
objects to which he had familiarized himself, could, under 
the influence of love and virtue, have inspired his be- 
trothed with any other sentiments than the soft enthusiasm 
of faith and happiness. He had not foreseen nor under- 
stood, that like a plant of the tropics plunged into a polar 
twilight, he had dragged Consuelo into an atmosphere of 
death. In short, he was not aware of the violence to her 
feelings which it would have required, to identify her being 
with his own. 

Anzoleto, on the contrary, although wounding the feel- 
ings and disgusting the mind of Consuelo at every point, 
had all the energy and warmth of character which the 
Flower of Spain (as he was wont to call her) required to 
make her happy. In hearing him, she once more recalled 
her unthinking and joyous existence, her bird-like love of 
song, her life of calm and varied enjoyment, of innocence 


400 


commio. 


undisturbed by labor, of uprightness without effort, of 
pity witliout thought. But is not an artist something of 
a bird, and must he not thus mingle in the pursuits and 
drink of the cup of life common to his fellow-man, in 
order to perfect his character and make it useful and in- 
structive to those around him? 

Consuelo sang with a voice every moment more sweet 
and touching, as she gave herself up, by a vague and 
dreamy instinct, to the reflections which I have just made, 
perhaps at too great length, in her place. I must, how- 
ever, he pardoned. For otherwise how could the 
reader understand the fatal mobility of feeling by which 
this sincere and prudent young girl, who had such good 
reason, only fifteen minutes before, to hate the perfidious 
Anzoleto, so far forgot herself as to listen to his voice, 
and to mingle, with a sort of delight, her sweet breath 
with his. The saloon, as has been already said, was too 
large to be properly lighted, and the day besides was de- 
clining. The music-stand of the instrument, on which 
Anzoleto had left a large sheet of music, concealed them 
from those at a distance, and by degrees their heads ap- 
proached closer and closer together. Anzoleto, still ac- 
companying himself with one hand, passed his other arm 
round Consuelo’s waist, and drew her insensibly toward 
him. Six months of indignation and grief vanished from 
her mind like a dream — she imagined herself in Venice — 
she was praying to the Madonna to bless her love for the 
dear betrothed her mother had given her, and who prayed 
with his hand locked in hers, his heart beating against 
her heart. At the end of a strophe she felt the burning 
lips of her first betrothed pressed against her own — she 
smother M a cry, and leaning on the harpsichord, burst 
into tears. 

At this instant Count Albert returned, heard her sobs, 
and saw the insulting joy of Anzoleto. This interruption 
had not astonished the other spectators of this rapid scene, 
as no person had seen the kiss, and every one believed that 
the recollection of her infancy and the love her art had 
caused these tears. Count Christian was somewhat vexed 
at a sensitiveness that implied so much regret for pursuits 
of which he required the sacrifice. As for the canoness and 
the chaplain, they were rejoiced at it, hoping that the 
sacrifice could never take place. Albert had not yet even 


C0N8UEL0. 


401 


asked himself whether the Countess of Rudolstadt could 
once more become an artist or not. He would have 
accepted every thing, permitted every thing, even exacted 
every thing, so that she should be happy and free — in retire- 
ment, in the world, or in the theater — at her pleasure. His 
complete absence of prejudice or selfishness produced a 
total want of foresight, even regarding the most simple 
matters. It never occurred to him that Consuelo should 
think of submitting to sacrifices which he did not wish to 
impose. But althougli not perceiving this first step, he 
saw beyond, as he always saw; he penetrated to the heart 
of the tree and placed his hand upon the cankerworm. 
Anzoleto^s true relation toward Consuelo, his real object, 
and the feeling which he inspired, were revealed to him in 
an instant. He looked attentively at this man, between 
whom and himself there existed a violent antipathy, and 
on whom he had not deigned till then to cast a f’ance, 
because he would not hate the brother of Consuel He 
saw in him a bold, a dangerous, and a persevering lover. 
The noble Albert never thought of himself — a whisper of 
jealousy never entered his heart — the danger was all for 
Consuelo: for with his profound and lucid, yet delicate, 
vision — that vision which could hardly bear the light, nor 
distinguish color and form — h. read the soul, and pene- 
trated by mysterious intuition into the most hidden 
thoughts of the wicked and abandoned. I shall not at- 
tempt to explain this strange gift by natural causes. 
Certain of his faculties appeared incomprehensible to those 
around him, as they appear to her who relates them, and 
who, at the end of a hundred years, is not a whit more 
advanced in their knowledge than the greatest intellects of 
her time. Albert, in laying bare the vain and selfish soul 
of his rival, did not say Behold my enerny;^' but he said 
Behold the enemy of Consuelo.'’^ And without letting 
his discovery appear, he resolved to watch over and pre- 
serve her. 


CHAPTER LXII. 

As soon as Consuelo found a favorable opportunity, she 
left the saloon and hastened to the garden. The sun had 
set, and the first stars of evening shone bright and clear in 
the sky, still tinged with its setting rays. The young artist 


402 


CONSUELO. 


sought culmness and quietude in the refreshing atmosphere 
of one of the earliest evenings of autumn. Her bosom was 
oppressed witli a languid delight; yet she felt a pang of re- 
morse, and called to her aid all the powers of her soul. She 
might well say to herself, “ Do I not then know whether I 
love or hate?’^ She trembled as if her courage were about 
to fail her, and for the first time in her life she did not ex- 
perience that rectitude of impulse, that sacred confidence 
in her intentions, which had hitherto sustained her in all 
her trials. She had left the saloon to avoid Anzoleto’s fas- 
cinating gaze, and yet she had experienced a vague desire 
that he should follow her. The leaves had begun to fall, 
and when the hem of her garment rustled them behind 
her, she imagined she heard footsteps following hers, 
and, ready to fly, and yet not daring to return, she re- 
mained rooted to the spot, as if by some magic power. 

Some one indeed had followed her, but without daring 
and without wishing to show himself; it was Albert. A 
stranger alike to dissimulation and formality, the purity 
and strength of his love rose above all false shame, and he 
had left the saloon the instant after her, resolved to protect 
her, unobserved, and to prevent her would-be lover from 
rejoining her. Anzoleto saw this movement, but it gave 
him no concern. He was too well aware of Consuelo’s agi- 
tation not to look upon his victory as certain, and, thanks 
to the conceited assurance which his previous easy con- 
quests had inspired, he resolved not to hasten matters, not 
to irritate his beloved, nor to outrage the family. ^^It is 
not at all necessary,^^ said he, that I should hurry myself; 
anger might give her strength, while a look of pain and 
dejection will dissipate the remains of her displeasure 
against me. Whether from fear or compassion, she has 
not betrayed my real character ; and the old people, in 
spite of all my folly, seem resolved to support me out of 
affection for her. I must change my tactics ; I have got 
on better than I expected, and shall now call a halt.” 

Count Christian, the canoness, and the chaplain, were 
therefore much surprised to see him assume all at once an 
air of good manners, and a moderate, mild and considerate 
demeanor. He had sufficient address to complain to the chap- 
lain in alow voice of a severe headache, and to mention that, 
being usually very temperate, the Hungarian wine, which he 
had not distrusted at dinner,had confused his brain, This de- 


CONSUELO, 


m 


claratioii was soon repeated to tlie caiioiiess, and the count, 
who charitably accepted the excuse. Wenceslawa was at 
first less indulgent; but the pains which the actor took to 
please her, the respectful praise which he adroitly lavished 
on the nobility, and the admiration he expressed for the 
order which prevailed in the castle, quickly disarmed the 
benevolent and forgiving soul. She listened at first care- 
lessly, and ended by chatting to him with pleasure, and 
agreeing with her brother that he was an excellent and 
charming young man. An hour elapsed before Consuelo 
returned from her walk, during which Anzoleto had not 
lost his time. He had so well established himself in the 
good graces of the family as to be able to remain at least 
for some days at the castle, until his designs should be ac- 
complished. He did not understand what the count said 
to Consuelo in German, but he guessed from the looks 
turned toward him, and the surprise and embarrassment 
depicted on Consuelo’s features, that Count Christian was 
praising him very highly, while he scolded Consuelo for 
the little interest she manifested in so amiable a relative. 

Come, signora,^" said the canoness, who, notwithstand- 
ing her anger against Coqsuelo, still wished her well, and 
besides thought she was doing a good - action, ^^you were 
displeased with 3mur brother at dinner, and it is true he 
then deserved it; but he is better than he appeared to be. 
He has just been speaking of you with the greatest affection 
and respect. Do not be more severe than we are. I am sure 
if he remembers how he behaved at dinner, he is sincerely 
sorry, especially on your account. Speak to him, and do 
not be so cold to one who is so nearly allied to you. For 
my part, although my brother Baron Frederick annoyed 
me many a time in his early days, I never could remain 
an hour without being reconciled to him.^^ 

Consuelo, neither daring to confirm nor correct the good 
lady’s mistake, was confounded at this new trick of Anzo- 
leto’s, the nature of which she understood very well. 

You are not aware of what my sister says,” said Chris- 
tian to the young man; I shall tell you in a couple of 
words. She is reproaching your sister with taking too 
many airs, while Consuelo, I am certain, is dying to make 
peace. Be friends, my children. Come,” said he to An- 
zoleto, make the first advance, and if you have ever done 
any thing toward her that you repent of, tell her so, that 
she may pardon you.” 


404 


CONSUELO. 


Anzoleto had not to be told a second time, and seizing 
the trembling hand of Consuelo, who dared not withdraw 
it, “ Yes,” he exclaimed, I have been very guilty toward 
her ; I repent bitterly, and all my efforts to harden my 
conscience only crushed my heart more and more. She 
knows it well, and if she had not a soul of iron, at once 
proud and merciless, she would feel that I am sufficiently 
punished. Therefore, sister, grant me your affection and 
pardon, else I shall carry despair and weariness over the 
world. Everywhere a stranger, without support, advice, 
or love, I shall no longer believe in a Providence, and my 
excesses must fall on your head.” 

This homily greatly moved the count, and drew tears 
from the good canoness. 

You hear him, Porporina,” she exclaimed; what he 
says is as beautiful as it is true. Mr. Chaplain, you should 
exhort the signora, in the name of religion, to be recon- 
ciled to her brother.” 

The chaplain was about to interfere; but Anzoleto, with- 
out heeding him, seized Consuelo in his arms, and in spite 
of her terror and resistance, embraced her passionately, to 
the great edification of those aroiind. 

Consuelo, shocked at such insolent deceit, could bear it 
no longer. Stop!” she exclaimed; Signor Count, listen 

to me .” She was about to reveal every thing, when 

Albert appeared. On the instant, on the point of confess- 
ing all, the remembrance of Zdenko froze her soul. The 
implacable protector of Consuelo might resolve to free 
her, without noise or deliberation, from the enemy against 
whom she was about to invoke his aid. She turned pale, 
and looked at Anzoleto with an air of painful reproach, 
while the words died on her lips. 

At seven o’clock the supper bell was rung. If the idea 
of these frequent repasts is calculated to injure the appe- 
tite of my delicate lady readers, I must tell them that the 
fashion of not eating had not yet been introduced into 
these countries. In fact, half the time was spent at Kies- 
enburg in eating, slowly, as well as often and heartily. And 
I must confess that Consuelo, accustomed from her in- 
fancy, and for good reasons too, to confine herself to a 
few spoonfuls of rice boiled in water, found these Homeric 
repasts extremely tedious. For the first time she knew 
not whether the present one lasted an hour or a moment; 


comui^LO, 


405 


she was Scarcely more alive tluin Albert in his cave. It 
seemed to her as if she were intoxicated, so much was she 
agitated by mingled feelings of love, terror, and shame. 
She eat nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing, around her. 
Like one who slides down the brink of a precipice, and 
who sees the slight twigs break by which he hoped to stay 
his fall, she gazed on the abyss, and delirium seized on her 
brain. Anzoleto was beside her — garment against garment, 
elbow against elbow, foot against foot; in his eagerness to 
serve her, his hands met hers, and he held them clasped 
an instant in his own. All the past came back in that 
burning pressure. He uttered words which suffocate, 
darted looks which devour. Quick as lightning he 
changed his glass for hers, and kissed the crystal which 
her lips had touched — to her he was all fire, though seem- 
ing ice to others. He was perfectly self-possessed, spoke 
with propriety, was most attentive to the canoness, treated 
the chaplain with respect, and offered him the best morsels 
within his reach. He saw that the good man was a glutton, 
but that his timidity imposed frequent privations on him; 
and the chaplain was so much gratified at this attention, 
that he would have been delighted to see the new carver 
pass the rest of his days at the Castle of the Giants. 

Anzoleto drank nothing but water ; and when the chap- 
lain, in return for his attentions, offered him wine, he re- 
plied loud enough to be heard: ‘‘Many thanks; but I do 
not intend to be taken in again. I sought to stupify my- 
self with your perfidious wine before, but now I am no 
longer in pain, and I return to water, my usual beverage 
and right trusty friend. 

They remained longer at table than usual ; Anzoleto 
sang, and this time he sang for Consuelo. He chose the 
favorite airs of her old author, which she had taught him 
herself, and repeated them with the care and delivery 
which she was wont to exact of him. It was to recall the 
dearest and most delightful recollections of her affections 
and of her art. 

When they were on the point of rising, he seized a favor- 
able moment to whisper to her : “ Dear Consuelo, you 
must endeavor to meet me early to-morrow morning in the 
gardens of the castle, as I have much to say to you. I 
dare scarcely hope to regain your love; alas! I fear that 
another is happy in the possession of it, and that, if I 


406 


OOMUELO. 


would not expire at your feet, I must fly far fronl tills. 
But will you not utter one word of pity and farewell? If 
you do not consent, I shall set otf at break of day, and my 
death be upon your head.” 

‘^Do not say so, Anzoleto. Here we must part, here 
bid each other an eternal farewell. I pardon you and I 
wish you ” 

A pleasant journey,” he ironically replied. You are 
pitiless, Consuelo. But you cannot be so cruel ; I will be 
there.” 

^^Ho, no; do not come,” said Consuelo, terrifled. 

Count Albert’s apartment overlooks the garden; perhaps 
he has guessed every thing. Anzoleto, if you expose your- 
self, I cannot answer for your life. I speak seriously — my 
blood freezes in my veins.” 

Consuelo at this moment perceived Albert’s usually 
vague glance become deep and clear, as“ he fixed it on An- 
zoleto. He could not hear, yet it would seem he under- 
stood with his eyes. She withdrew her hand, saying in 
stifled accents: 

Ahl if you love me, do not brave that terrible man.” 

^^Is it for yourself you fear?” said Anzoleto, quickly. 

^'Ho, but for all who approach and threaten me.” 

And for all who adore you, doubtless? Well, be it so. 
To die before your eyes— at your feet — I ask but that. 
To-morrow, at break of day, I shall be there. Resist, and 
you will but hasten my doom.” 

You set out to-morrow, and yet take leave of no one!” 
said Consuelo, observing that he saluted the count and 
canoness, without mentioning his departure. 

^^No,” he replied, ‘^they would wish to detain me, and 
in spite of myself, seeing every thing conspire to prolong 
my agony, I would yield. You shall offer my excuses and 
adieus. My guide has received orders to have the horses 
in readiness at four in the morning.” 

This last assertion was more than true. The singular 
looks of Albert for some hours had not escaped Anzoleto. 
He was resolved to brave every thing, but, in case of mis- 
cliance, held himself prepared for flight. His horses were 
saddled in the stable, and his guide had orders to watch. 

When Consuelo had returned to her chamber she was 
seized with real terror. She did not wish to meet Anzo- 
leto, and yet she feared that he might take some desperate 


C0N8UEL0, 407 

step if she refused. She had never felt so unhappy, so 
unprotected, and so lonely upon the earth. 

“Oh, my dear master, where are yoii,^^ she exclaimed. 
“You alone know the perils which surround me — you 
alone could save me. You are rough, severe, distrustful, 
as a friend and father should be to drag me from the abyss 
into which I fear to fall. But have I not friends around 
me? Have I not a father in Count Christian? — would the 
canoness not be a mother, if I had but courage to brave 
her prejudices and open my heart? And is not Albert my 
protector, my brother, my husband, if I only consent to 
say a word? Ah! yes, it is he who should be my protector; 
yet I fear I repel him. I must go and seek all three,” she 
added, rising and walking hurriedly about the chamber ; 
“ I must be one with them, cling to their protecting arms, 
and take shelter under the wings of these guarding angels. 
Kepose, dignity, honor, dwell with them ; misery and 
despair would await me with Anzoleto. Ah ! yes, I must 
confess what has passed in my mind during this frightful 
day, that they may protect and defend me from myself. I 
shall bind myself to them with an oath, and say the ter- 
rible yes, which shall place an invincible barrier between 
myself and this scourge. I will go ” 

But instead of going, she fell back exhausted on a 
chair, and bitterly wept her exhausted strength, her lost 
peace. 

“ But what ?” said she, “shall I utter a fresh falsehood? 
Shall I consent to pledge my faith to a man I do not love? 
Alas! I feel that Anzoleto is still dearer to me than he. 
What shall I do? What is to become of me ?” 

While absorbed in these reflections, she saw through the 
window of her closet, which opened upon an inner court- 
yard, a light from the stables. She examined attentively 
a man who went in and out without waking the other 
servants, and who appeared to be preparing for his depart- 
ure. She saw by his dress that it was Anzoleto^s guide, 
and that he was getting ready the horses, conformably to 
to his instructions. She also saw a light with the keeper 
of the drawbridge, and concluded that he had been 
informed by the guid§ of their approaching departure, the 
hour for which had not been exactly settled. Considering 
these matters in detail, a bold and somewhat strange pro- 
ject rushed across Consuelo’s thoughts. But as it opened 


408 


CONSUELO. 


out to her between two extremes a fresh point of departure 
in the events of her life, it seemed to her little less than 
inspiration. She had no time to inquire into the means or 
the consequences. She trusted the one to Providence, 
while she thought she could obviate the others. She be- 
gan to write as follows, in haste as may be supposed, for 
the castle clock had sounded eleven. 

‘^Albert, I am compelled to depart. I esteem and 
admire you, as you know, from my very soul. But there 
are in my nature contradictions, sufferings, and oppositions 
which I cannot explain either to you or myself. Could I 
see you at this moment I should perhaps tell you that I 
confide in you, that I yield you up the care of my future 
life, that I consent to become your wife. Perhaps I 
should even say that I desire it. Nevertheless, I should 
be deceiving you, or at least make a rash vow, for my 
heart is not yet sufficiently purified from its old love to be- 
long to you without fear, or to merit yours without 
remorse. I fly, I hasten to Vienna, to meet or await Por- 
pora, w'ho is to be there in a few days, as his letter to your 
father has recently announced. I swear to you that I 
shall only endeavor to forget the past beside him, and 
cherish the hope of a future of which you are the corner- 
stone. Do not follow me ; I forbid you in the name of 
this future which your impatience might compromise and 
perhaps destroy. Wait for me, and keep the oath, which 

you have sworn, not to return without me to you will 

understand what I mean! Rely upon me; I enjoin it on 
you, for I go with the blessed hope of one day return- 
ing or asking you to come to me. At this moment I 
seem as if I labored under a frightful dream. I feel that 
when I am again alone I shall awaken worthy of you. I 
am determined that my brother shall not follow me. I 
mean to keep all my movements secret from him, and 
induce him to take a direction opposite to that which I 
shall follow myself. By all that you hold dear on earth I 
implore you not to oppose my project, and to believe that 
I am sincere. By so doing I shall see that you love me 
truly, and I shall then be able to sacrifice, without blush- 
ing, my poverty to your riches, my obscurity to your rank, 
and my ignorance to your lofty knowledge. Adieu, Albert, 
but only for a time! To prove to you that I do not go 
irrevocably, I charge you to render your good and excel- 


GON8UEL0, 


409 


lent aunt favorable to our union, and to preserve for me the 
esteem of your father — that best and worthiest of men. 
Tell liim the truth in all respects. I shall write to you 
from Vienna. 

The hope of convincing and calming by such a letter a 
man so much in love as Albert was rash, no doubt, but not 
altogether unreasonable. Consuelo, even while she wrote, 
felt her energy and rectitude of principle return. She felt 
every thing she wrote, and every thing she said she meant 
to do. She was aware of Albertis wonderful penetration — 
his almost second sight — and she did not hope to deceive 
him ; she was sure from his character that he would 
believe in her and obey her punctually. At this moment 
her judgment of the circumstances in which she was 
placed, and the conduct of Albert toward her, was as pure 
and lofty as his would have been in a similar position. 

Having folded her letter without sealing it, she threw 
her traveling cloak over her shoulders, covered her head 
with a thick dark veil, put on very strong shoes, gathered 
together the little money she possessed, made up a small 
packet of linen and descending on tip-toe, with extreme 
precaution, she traversed the lower stories, arrived at 
Count Christian’s apartment, and glided into the oratory, 
which she knew he regularly entered at six in the morning. 
She placed the letter on the cushion on which he usually 
opened his book before kneeling, then, descending still 
further to the court-yard without awaking any one, she 
proceeded straight to the stables. 

The guide, who did not feel very comfortable at finding 
himself "alone in the middle of the night in this great 
castle, where every one was fast asleep, was at first afraid 
of this figure in black, which glided toward him like a 
phantom. He retreated to the furthest corner of the 
stable, neither daring to cry out nor question her. This 
was just what Consuelo wished. As soon as she saw her- 
self out of sight and hearing, for she knew that neither 
Albert’s nor Anzoleto’s windows opened on the court-yard, 
she said to the guide: am the sister of the young man 

you brought here this morning; he takes me with him. 
It has just been settled on. Put a side-saddle quickly on 
his horse; there are several here. Follow me to Tusta, 
without saying a single word, and without making a single 
movement which could betray me to the people of the 


410 


CONSUELO. 


castle. Yon shall have double pay. Yon appear sur- 
prised? Come, make haste; the momeut we reach the 
town you must return with the same horses to bring my 
brother.’^ The guide shook his head. You shall be 
paid threefold.'’^ The guide nodded assent. And you 
will bring him full gallop to Tusta, where I shall await 
you."” The guide again shook his head. ^‘You shall 
have four times as much for the latter stage as for the 
former.” The guide obeyed, in an instant the horse was 
ready. ‘‘This is not all,” said Consuelo, mounting even 
before the bridle was perfectly adjusted; “give me your 
hat, and throw your cloak over mine, only for an instant.” 

“ I understand,” said the man, “ to deceive the porter, 
that is easy! Oh, it is not the first time I have carried off 
a young lady. Your lover will pay well, I suppose, 
although you are his sister,” added he, with a grin. 

“ You will be well paid by me first. But be silent — are 
you ready?” 

“ I am mounted.” 

“Pass on then and have the bridge lowered.” 

They crossed it at a foot pace, made a circuit in order 
not to pass under the walls of the castle, and at the end of 
a quarter of an hour had gained the sandy road. Con- 
suelo had never been on horseback before. Happily the 
animal though strong wa,5 tractable. Ilis master encour- 
aged him with his voice, and striking into a steady and 
rapid pace through woods and thickets, the lady arrived at 
her destination in a couple of hours. 

Consuelo sprang down at the entrance of the town. “I 
do not wish that they should see me here,” said slie to the 
guide, at the same time placing in his hand the money 
agreed upon for herself and Anzoleto. “ I shall proceed 
through the town on foot, and hire from some people here 
whom I know a carriage to convey me on the road to 
T' ^ " uickly, in order to get to a distance 



would be recognized, before the 


break of day. In the morning I shall stop and await my 
brother.” 

“ But in what place?” 

“ I cannot say; but tell him that it will be at a post- 
house. Let him not ask any questions until he shall be 
ten leagues from this. Then let him inquire for Madam 
Wolf; it is the first name that occurs to me; do not forget 
it, however. There is but one road to Prague?” 


GOmVELO. 


411 


Only one as far as ’’ 

‘‘It is well. Stop in the suburbs to refresh your horses. 
Do not let them see the side-saddle, throw your cloak over 
it; do not answer any question, and start oft*. Stay — another 
word — tell my brother not to hesitate, but to set off at 
once without being seen. His life is in danger in the 
castle.'’^ 

“ God be with you, my pretty maiden,” said the guide, 
who had had time enough to count his money. “Even if 
my poor horses should be knocked up, I shall be glad to 
have served you. I am sorry, however,” he said to himself 
when she had disappeared in the obscurity, “ that I could 
not have a peep at her. I would like to know if she is 
handsome enough to run away with. She frightened me 
at first with her black veil and resolute step; besides they 
told me so many stories in the kitchen that I did not know 
what to think. How foolish and superstitious those peo- 
ple are with their ghosts and their man in black of the 
oak of the Schreckenstein! Pooh! I passed it a hundred 
times, and never saw any thing. I took good care to look 
aside when I passed the ravine at the foot of the moun- 
tain.” 

Thus reflecting, the guide, having fed his horses, and 
having taken a good dram by way of rousing himself, 
turned again toward Eiesenburg, without hurrying himself 
in the least, as Consuelo had foreseen and hoped, though 
she had recommended him to use all speed. The honest 
fellow was lost in conjectures upon the romantic adventure 
in which he found himself involved. By degrees the va- 
pors of the night, and perhaps also the strong drink, made 
things appear still more wonderful to him. “ It would be 
curious,” thought he, “if this dark woman in black were 
to turn out to be a man, and this man the ghost of the 
castle — the dark spirit of the Schreckenstein. They say 
that he plays all sorts of scurvy tricks on night travelers, 
and old Hans swore that he saw him often when he was 
feeding Baron Frederick’s horses before daybreak. The 
devil! it would not be so pleasant to meet the like, as 
something bad is sure to come of it. If my poor hack 
has carried Satan this night he will die for certain. I 
fancy there is fire coming out of his nostrils already ; it is 
very well if he does not take the bit between his teeth. I 
wish I were at the castle, to see if, in place of the money 


412 


CONSUELO. 


which this she-devil has given me, I shall not find dried 
leaves in my pocket; and if they tell me that Signora Por- 
porina is sleeping quietly in her bed, instead of being on 
the road to Prague, what the devil is to become of me ? 
Truth to say she galloped like the wind, and vanished 
when she left me, as if she had sunk into the ground 


CHAPTEK LXIII. 

Akzoleto did not fail to rise at daybreak, seize his 
stiletto, and perform an elaborate toilet. But when he 
proceeded to open the door, which he had observed pre- 
viously was easily enough unlocked, he was surprised be- 
yond measure to find thafhe could not turn the key. He 
bruised his fingers and tired himself in the attempt, at the 
risk of awakening some one by his violent efforts. It was 
of no avail ; there was no other outlet from his room, and 
the window looked down upon the garden from a height of 
fifty feet, so steep and dangerous that it made him giddy 
only to think of it. This is not the work of chance,” 
said Anzoleto, after giving the door a last push, ‘‘but 
whether it be Consuelo (and that would be a good omen), 
or whether it be the count, both will have to reckon with 
me for it.” 

He endeavored to go to sleep again, but vexation, and 
perhaps also a certain uneasiness allied to fear, prevented 
him. If Albert had been the author of this precaution, 
he alone of all the household had not been the dupe of 
his pretended relationship to Consuelo. The latter had 
appeared really frightened when she warned him to be- 
ware of that terrible man. It did not console Ansoleto to 
say, that being crazy, the young count had probably not 
much connection in his ideas, or that being of illustrious 
birth, he would not be willing, according to the preju- 
dices of the day, to commit himself in an affair of honor 
with an actor. These suppositions did not reassure him. 
Albert had appeared to him a very quiet madman, and one 
who was quite master of his actions ; and as to his preju- 
dices, they could not be very deeply rooted, if they per- 
mitted him to entertain the idea of marrying an actress. 
Anzoleto therefore began seriously to fear having any dif- 


CONSUELO. 


413 


ference with him before the accomplishment of his object, 
and thus getting into trouble without profit. This termin- 
ation of his adventure appeared to him rather disgraceful 
than tragic. He had learned how to handle a sword, and 
flattered himself that he was a match for any nobleman 
whatsoever. Nevertheless he did not feel easy, and could 
not sleep. 

Toward five o’clock he imagined he heard steps in the 
corridor, and shortly afterward his door was opened with- 
out noise and without difficulty. It was not yet broad day- 
light, and on seeing a man enter his chamber with so little 
ceremony, Anzoleto thought the decisive moment had 
arrived. He darted toward his stiletto with a desperate 
bound. ^ But by the glimmer of the dawn he immediately 
recognized his guide, who made signs to him to 
speak low and to make no noise. What do you mean 
by your grimaces, and what do you want with me, you 
stupid ass?” said Anzoleto, angrily. How did you get 
in?” 

Get in? How should I get in but by the door, my 
good sir?” 

The door was locked.” 

But you had left the key outside.” 

Impossible! there it is on my table.” 

'^That is strange! then there are two.” 

^'And who can have played me the trick of locking 
me in thus? There was but one key yesterday. Was it 
you when you came for my valise?” 

‘‘ I swear that it was not; I never saw the key.” 

Then it must be the devil! But what do you want 
with me, with your busy and mysterious air? I did not 
send for you.” 

You did not give me time to speak! However, you 
see me, and you must of course know very well what I 
want of you. The signora reached Tusta without acci- 
dent, and according to her directions I am here with my 
horses to conduct you thither.” 

It was some minutes before Anzoleto could comprehend 
what was the matter, but when he did so, he joined in the 
deception quickly enough to prevent his guide, whose 
superstitious fears had completely vanished with the shades 
of night, from again falling into his perplexities about it 
being a trick of the devil. The knave liad begun by ex- 


414 


CON8UELO. 


amining and ringing Consuelo’s money on the pavement of 
the stable, and felt himself well satisfied with his part of 
the bargain with Satan. Anzoleto understood in a mo- 
ment what had occurred, and imagined that the fugitive 
on her side had been so closely watched as not to be able 
to inform him of her resolution, and that threatened, 
urged to extremity perhaps, by her jealous lover, she had 
seized a favorable moment to baffle his projects, escape, 
and seek the open country. However that may be,” 
said he to himself, there is no room for doubt or hesi- 
tation. The direction which she has sent to me by this 
man, who has conducted her on the road to Prague, is 
clear and precise. Victory! that is, if I can get out of this 
house without being obliged to cross swords!” 

He armed himself to the teeth; and while he was has- 
tening to get ready, he sent his guide as a scout to see if 
the road was clear. Upon his bringing intelligence that 
all seemed to be still buried in sleep, except the bridge- 
keeper who had just opened the gate for him, Anzoleto 
descended without noise, remounted his horse, and met in 
the court-yard only a single stable-boy, whom he called to 
give him some money, in order that his departure might 
not bear the appearance of a flight. ^^By Saint Wences- 
las!” said the servant to the guide, how strange it is! 
your horses on coming out of the stable are covered with 
sweat, as if they had been traveling all night.” 

It must have been that your black devil came and 
dosed them,” replied the other. 

That must he the reason,” returned the stable-boy, 
why I heard such a horrible noise in this direction all 
night! I did not dare to come and see what was the mat- 
ter ; but I heard the portcullis creak and the drawbridge 
lowered, just as I see it now ; I certainly thought you were 
going away, and I did not expect to see you this morning.” 
The warder at the drawbridge was also surprised. 
Your lordship is double then?” asked the man, rubbing 
his eyes. I saw you depart about midnight, and now I 
see you again.” 

You must have been dreaming, my honest fellow,” 
said Anzoleto, making him a present also. should not 
liave gone without asking you to drink my health.” 

‘‘Your lordship does me too much honor,” said the por- 
ter, who spoke a little broken Italian, ‘‘But, for all 


GONSUKLO, 


415 


that,” said he to the guide in his own tongue, I have 
seen two to-night.” 

^^^And take care that you do not see four to-morrow 
night,” replied the guide, galloping over the bridge after 
Anzoleto. The black devils always play such tricks 
with sleepers like you.” 

Anzoleto, who got full instructions from his guide, 
reached Tusta, or Tauss — for they are, I believe, the same 
town. He passed through it, after having discharged the 
man and taken post-horses, abstained from making any in- 
quiries for ten leagues, and at the appointed place stopped 
to breakfast (for he was now nearly worn out), and asked 
for one Madam Wolf, who was to meet him there with a 
carriage. But no one . could give him any news of her, 
and for a very good reason. 

There was indeed a Madam Wolf in the village, but 
she had been established there fifty years, and kept a 
mercer^s shop. * Anzoleto, tired and exhausted, concluded 
that Consuelo had not thought it best to stop in this 
place. He inquired for a carriage to hire, but there was 
none. He was therefore obliged to mount on horseback 
again, and ride post once more. He thought every moment 
that he Was certain to overtake the welcome carriage, into 
which he could throw himself, and be recompensed for his 
anxieties and his fatigues. But he met very few travelers, 
and in no carriage did he see Consuelo. At last, overcome 
by excess of fatigue, and finding no vehicle to be hired 
anywhere, he resolved to stop, although with much re- 
luctance, and to wait in a little town on the roadside until 
Consuelo should join him, for he was certain he must have 
passed her. He had plenty of time during the rest of the 
day and the following night to curse the women, the inns, 
the roads, and all jealous lovers. The next day he found 
a public passenger coach, and continued to hurry toward 
Prague, but without being more successful. Let us leave 
him traveling toward the north, a prey to rage, impatience, 
and despair not unmixed with hope, and return for an in- 
stant to the chateau, in order to observe the effect of Con- 
suelo’s departure upon the inhabitants of that abode. 

It may readily be conceived that Count Albert did not 
sleep, any more than th^ other two personages engaged in 
this hurried adventure. After having provided a second 
key to Anzoleto’s chaniber, he had locked him in from tlie 


416 


CONSUELO. 


outside, and was no longer anxious about his attempts, 
knowing well that unless Consuelo herself interfered, no 
one would go to deliver him. Kespecting this possibility, 
the bare idea of which made him shudder, Albert had the 
extreme delicacy not to wish to make any imprudent dis- 
covery. If she loves him so well,^’ thought he, I need 
struggle no more; let my destiny be accomplished ; I 
shall know it soon enough ; for she is sincere, and to- 
morrow she will openly refuse the offers I liave made her 
to-day. If she is merely persecuted and threatened by this 
dangerous man, she is now sheltered from his pursuits for 
one night at least. In the meantime, no matter what 
passing noise I hear around me, I will not stir ; I will not 
make myself odious, and inflict upon that unfortunate the 
punishment of shame, by presenting myself before her 
without being called. No! I will not play the part of a 
cowardly spy, of a suspicious and jealous lover, since 
hitherto her refusals and irresolution haVe given me no 
claim over her.^^ 

The courageous Albert religiously kept the resolution 
he had made, and although he imagined he heard Con- 
suelo’s footsteps in the lower story at the moment of her 
flight, and some other more inexplicable noises in the 
direction of the portcullis, he prayed and suffered in 
silence, and restrained with clasped hands the throbbings 
of his heart. 

When the hour arrived at which Count Christian was 
accustomed to rise, Albert hastened to him, with the in- 
tention, not of informing him of what was passing, but of 
persuading him to enter into a fresh explanation with Con- 
suelo. He was certain that she would speak the truth. 
He thought that she must even desire such an explana- 
tion, and he prepared to comfort her in her trouble, and to 
pretend a resignation which would qualify the bitterness 
of their farewell. Albert did not ask what would become 
of himself afterward.. He felt that neither his reason nor 
his life could support such a shock, but he did not shrink 
from undergoing suffering beyond his strength. 

He found his father at the moment when the latter was 
entering the oratory. The letter pl'aced upon the cushion 
struck their eyes at the same instant. They seized and 
read it together. The old man was deeply dejected, think- 
ing that his son could not endure the shock ; but Albert, 


aONSUELO. 417 

who was prepared for a much greater misfortune, was 
calm, resigned, and unshaken in his confidence. 

She is pure,’^ said he ; and she wislies to love me. 
She feels that my love is true, and my faith immovable. 
God will protect her from danger. Let us accept this 
promise, my father^ and remain tranquil. Fear not for 
me; I shall be stronger than my sorrow, and will subdue 
any anxiety that might disturb me.^'’ 

My son, said the old man, deeply affected, we are 
here before the image of the God of your fathers. You 
have chosen another form of belief, and I have never re- 
proached you for it, although, as you well know, my heart 
has suffered deeply. I am about to prostrate myself before 
that God in whose presence I promised you, the night be- 
fore this, to do all that was in my pow^r in order that your 
love might be heard, and sanctified by an honorable union. 
I have kept my promise, and I now renew it to you. I am 
again about to pray that the Almighty may fulfill your 
wishes; my own vvill not oppose them. Will you not unite 
with me in this solemn hour, which will perhaps decide in 
heaven the destiny of your love upon the earth ? 0 my 

noble son! in whom the Eternal has preserved every virtue, 
notwithstanding the trials He has permitted your first faith 
to undergo — whom I have seen in your childhood kneeling 
by my side at the tomb of your mother, and praying like a 
young angel to that Sovereign Master whom you did not 
then doubt! — will you this day refuse to raise your voice 
toward Him, that mine may riot be in vain?’^ 

Father,’^ replied Albert, folding the old man in his 
arms, ‘Mf our faith differs, our souls are in unison as to 
the divine and eternal principle. You adore the God of 
wisdom and purity, the ideal of perfection, knowledge, 
justice, truth; I have never ceased to do so. 0 thou Cru- 
cified One!’^ he exclaimed, kneeling with his father before 
the sacred image, ‘^Thou whom men have worshiped, and 
whom I too worship, as the purest and most noble mani- 
festation of divine love — Thou who dwellest in God and in 
us, hear my prayer — bless just impulses and upright inten- 
tions, defeat triumphant wickedness, sustain oppressed 
innocence ! Let the issue of my affection be as Heaven 
wills; but let Thy influence direct and animate those hearts 
who have no other strength or support than Thy sojourning 
and example upon earth!” 


418 


00N8UEL0. 


CHAPTER LXIV. 

Anzoleto pursued his way toward Prague to no pur- 
pose, for Consuelo, after having given the false instructions 
to the guide which she deemed necessary to the success of 
her enterprise, had taken a road to the left which she was 
acquainted with, from having twice accompanied the Bar- 
oness Amelia to a castle in the neighborhood of the little 
village of Tauss. This castle was the most distant journey 
which Consuelo had undertaken during her stay at Riesen- 
burg. The aspect of the country, therefore, and the direc- 
tion of the roads which traversed it, naturally occurred to 
her when she projected and executed her bold and hasty 
flight. She recollected also that, when walking on the ter- 
race, the lady of the castle, in pointing out the vast extent 
of country which could be seen from it, had said: That 
noble road bordered with trees which you see yonder, and 
which is lost in the distance, joins the great southern high- 
way, and leads direct to Vienna.” Consuelo, with this 
direction in her mind, was certain of not going astray. 
She reached the castle and grounds of Biela, which she 
skirted, and found without much difficulty, notwithstand- 
ing the darkness, the road bordered with trees ; so that 
before daybreak she had accomplished a distance of three 
leagues as the bird flies. Young, active, and accustomed 
from childhood to long walks, and supported moreover by 
a resolute will, she saw the day dawn without experiencing 
much fatigue. The sky was clear, the roads were dry, 
sandy, and pleasant under foot. The rapid pace of the 
horse, to which she was not accustomed, had somewhat ex- 
hausted her; but in such cases it is better to go on than 
pause, for with energetic temperaments one species of 
fatigue is the best alleviation of another. 

However by degrees as the stars grew pale, and the dawn 
brightened into day, she became frightened at being alone. 
She felt tranquil so long as it was dark, since, always on 
the watch, she was certain of being able to hide herself be- 
fore she could be discovered; but during the day, obliged 
as she would be to cross extensive plams, she dared no 
longer follow the beaten track, the more so as she now 
began to perceive groups of persons in the distance, spread- 
ing like dark spots over the white line which marked the 


GONSUELO, 


419 


road on the yet obscure surface of the adjoining country. 
So near Riesenburg she might be recognized by the first 
person she met, and she therefore resolved to take a path 
whicli promised to shorten her journey by avoiding a cir- 
cuit which she would otherwise be obliged to make round 
the hill. She proceeded in this direction for about an hour 
without meeting any one, and at last entered a thicket 
where she could easily conceal herself, if necessary. “If I 
could thus advance,^" thought she, “some eight or ten 
leagues unobserved, I would then proceed quietly along the 
high road, and at the first favorable opportunity hire a 
carriage and horses.” 

This reflection caused her to examine her purse, and see 
what was left for the remainder of her journey after her 
generous donation to the guide from Riesenburg. She had 
not yet had time for reflection; but had’ she reflected, and 
listened to the suggestions of prudence, would she have set 
out on such an expedition? But what were her surprise and 
consternation when she found that her purse contained a 
great deal less than she had supposed. In her haste she 
had only taken the half of the small sum which she pos- 
sessed, or else she had given gold in place of silver to the 
guide ; or perhaps, in opening her purse, she had dropped 
some of the money on the ground. However it might be, 
it was evident that she had no alternative but to proceed 
to Vienna on foot. 

This discovery discouraged her a little, not so much on 
the score of the fatigue which it would .occasion her, as 
the danger to which a young woman would be inevitably 
exposed in going on foot so long a journey. The fear 
which she had hitherto surmounted, under the impression 
that she could procure a conveyance, and thus avoid any 
risk of danger, overpowered her to such a degree, that, 
overcome by a sense of weakness and vague apprehension, 
she hurried forward, seeking the deepest shade, in order 
to conceal herself in case of attack. 

To add to her disquietude, she saw that she had lost her 
way, and that she was wandering at random in the path- 
less forest. If the solitude reassured her in some respects, 
how could she be certain, on the other hand, that she 
might not take a direction the very opposite of what she 
wished, and so return to Riesenburg. Anzoleto might 
still be there, detained by suspicion, chance, or the hope 


CONSUELO. 


m 

of revenge; even Albert himself might be dreaded in the 
hrst moment of his agitation and despair. Consnelo knew 
that he would submit to her decision ; but suppose she 
were to present herself in the neighborhood of the castle, 
would he not hasten to assail her with supplications and 
tears? Ought she to expose this noble young man and his 
family, as well as to her own pride, to the scandal and 
ridicule of an enterprise abandoned as soon as undertaken? 
Anzoleto^s return in the course of a few days might plunge 
every thing into fresh confusion, and so renew the danger 
which she had so generously and boldly obviated. Every 
thing must be hazarded rather than return to Eiesenburg. 

Eesolved to seek carefully for the road leading to 
Vienna, and follow it at all risks, she paused in a shady 
and retired spot, where a spring gushed from between 
rocks sheltered by* lofty trees. The ground around seemed 
marked by the footsteps of animals. Were they those of 
the neighboring flocks, or of beasts of prey who occasion- 
ally came to quench their thirst at this secluded fountain? 
Consnelo knelt down on the dripping stones, and satisfied 
both hunger and thirst with a draught of the cool and 
limpid water; then remaining in her kneeling posture, she 
reflected on her situation. I am a weak and helpless 
creature,’^ thought she, ‘Mf I cannot carry out what I have 
planned. What! shall it be said that my mother’s child 
is no longer able to bear cold or hunger, fatigue or 
danger? I have dreamed to little purpose of freedom and 
poverty in the bj3Som of that plenty from which I always 
longed to free niyself, if I am to be thus terrified. Was I 
not born to suffer and to dare? Or am I changed since 
the time when I used to journey on foot, sometimes before 
daybreak and often hungry, with my poor mother, and 
when all the nourishment we had was perhaps a draught 
at some roadside fountain? I am a worthy Zingara truly, 
who can only sing in a theater, sleep upon down, and 
travel in a coach! What dangers did I incur with my 
mother? Did she not say to me, when we met doubtful 
characters, ^ Fear nothing; those who possess nothing have 
nothing to dread ; the wretched do not prey upon each 
other,’ She was young and handsome in those days, yet 
was she ever insulted by the passers-by? Even the worst 
men respect the defenseless. How do those poor mendi- 
cant girls do, who go about with nothing but the protec- 


CONSUELO. 


421 


tioii of God? Shall I be like those damsels who cannot 
move out of doors without thinking that the whole world, 
intoxicated with their charms, hastens in pursuit of them? 
Shall it be said that, because alone, and journeying on the 
broad and free highway, I must be degraded and dishon- 
ored, without some guardians to watch over me ? My 
mother was as bold as a lion, and would have defended 
herself like one. Am not I also strong and courageous, 
with nought but good plebeian blood flowing in my veins? 
Besides, I am in a quiet country, with peaceful inhabitants; 
and were I even in some unknown land, I should be very 
unfortunate if in the hour of need I did not meet some of 
those upright, generous spirits, whom God has placed 
everywhere, as a sort of providence for the weak and help- 
less. But, courage ! this day I have incurred no worse 
evil than hunger, I shall enter no cabin to purchase bread 
till toward the evening, when it becomes dark, and when 
I shall be far, far from this. I know what hunger is, and 
how to combat it, notwithstanding the constant feasting at 
Riesenberg. A day soon passes over. When it begins to 
get warm, and my limbs grow weary, I shall recall the 
saying which I heard so often in my infancy, ^ He who 
sleeps dines.^ I shall hide in some cave in the rocks, and 
you shall see, 0 my poor mother, who watchest over me, 
and journeyest at this hour invisible by my side, that I am 
able to repose without pillow or couch!’' 

While thus engaged in devising plans for her conduct, 
the poor girl forgot for a short time her distress. She had 
gained a victory over herself, and Anzoleto.was already 
less dreaded. From the very moment when she had re- 
sisted his solicitations, she felt her soul partially relieved 
from her fatal attachment ; and now, in putting into exe- 
cution her romantic project, she experienced a sort of 
mournful gaiety, which made her repeat each instant to 
herself, My body suffers, but it saves my soul. The bird 
which cannot defend itself by strength has wings to flee; 
and when it soars through the flelds of air it laughs at nets 
and stratagems.” 

The recollection of Albert, and the picture she drew of 
his suffering and terror, presented themselves very differ- 
ently to Consuelo; but she combated with all her might, 
the tenderness which this thought was calculated to in- 
spire. She determined to repel his image, until she should 


422 


CONSUELO. 


be beyond the reach of sudden repentance or imprudent 
emotion. “ Dear Albert ! noble friend said she, I 
cannot help sighing deeply when I think of thee! But in 
Vienna alone shall I pause to sympathize with thee ; here 
I shall only permit my heart to say how much it venerates 
and regrets thee.” 

‘^Forward!” continued Consuelo, endeavoring to rise, 

I must proceed on my journey.” But in vain she at- 
tempted, twice or thrice, to leave the wild and pretty 
fountain, whose pleasant murmur invited her to repose. 
Sleep, which she had purposed putting off till midday, 
weighed heavy on her eyelids, and hunger, which she was 
unable to resist so well as she had supposed, added to her 
exhaustion. She would gladly have deceived herself on 
this point, but in vain. She had been too much agitated 
to take any refreshment the evening before. A mist crept 
over her eyes, while languor and uneasiness took possession 
of her frame. She yielded to fatigue without being aware 
of it, and, firmly, resolving to get up and proceed on her 
journey, she gradually sank on the grass, her head fell upon 
her little bundle, and she slept soundly. The sun, warm 
and glowing as it often is during the short summers of 
Bohemia, rose gaily in the sky, the fountain murmured 
over the pebbles, as if it had wished to lull the slumbers of 
the traveler, while the birds fluttered overhead, warbling 
their melodious carols. 


CHAPTER LXV. 

Consuelo had slept thus about three hours, when she 
was aroused by another noise than that of the fountain and 
the warbling birds around her. She half opened her eyes, 
without having power to rise or well knowing where she 
was, and saw at two paces distant a figure leaning over the 
rocks, drinking like herself without much ceremony from 
the stream, by dipping his mouth into the water. Her 
first feeling was one of terror, but a further glance at the 
companion of her retreat restored her confidence ; for 
whether he had had leisure to observe her features while 
she slept, or perhaps that he was not much interested in 
the matter, he appeared to take little notice of her; be- 


CONSUBLO. 


m 

sides, be was rather a boy than a man. He appeared about 
fifteen or sixteen years of age at most, and was little, lean, 
sallow, and weather-beaten, while his countenance, which 
was neither handsome nor otherwise, expressed only calm 
indifference. 

By an instinctive movement Consuelo drew down her 
veil, thinking that if the traveler troubled himself so little 
about- her it would be better to appear to sleep than run 
the risk of provoking troublesome questions. Through her 
veil, however, she closely observed the unknown, expecting 
every moment that he would take up his knapsack and 
stick to continue his journey. 

But she soon discovered that he was resolved to rest also, 
and even to breakfast, for he opened his bag and took out 
a huge lump of bread, which he gravely cut and began to 
eat, casting from time to time a timid glance toward the 
sleeper, and taking care to make no noise in opening and 
shutting his knife, as if he feared to awaken her suddenly. 
This mark of respect inspired Consuelo with perfect con- 
fidence, and the sight of the bread which he eat witli such 
relish aroused the pangs of hunger. Being assured from 
the careless attire and dusty shoes of the youth, that he 
was a poor traveler and a stranger in the country, she 
believed that Providence had sent her unexpected aid by 
which she ought to profit. It was an immense huncli, 
and the boy, without stinting his appetite, could spare 
her a morsel. She rose, therefore, pretended to rub 
her eyes, as if she had just awakened, and looked boldly 
at the youth, in order if needful to keep him within 
bounds. 

This precaution was unnecessary. As soon as the boy 
saw the sleeper standing up, he became uneasy, cast down 
his eyes, and at length, encouraged by the sweet and gentle 
expression of Consuelo^s countenance, he ventured to look 
at her, and addressed her in a tone of voice so mild and 
harmonious, that she was immediately prepossessed in his 
favor. 

Well, mademoiselle,” said he, smiling, you are awake 
at last. You slept so soundly, that, only for the fear of 
being rude, I would have followed your example.” 

‘‘If you are as kind as you are polite,” replied Consuelo, 
assuming a maternal tone, “you can render me a slight 
service.” 


m 


CONBVELd. 


‘‘Any thing you please/’ replied the young traveler, to 
whom Oonsuelo’s voice seemed equally agreeable and pene- 
trating. 

“ You must sell me some bread for breakfast then, if 
you can do so without inconvenience to yourself.” 

“ Sell you some!” he exclaimed, surprised and blushing. 
“Oh! if I had a breakfast worth offering, I should not sell it. 
I am not an innkeeper, but I will give it to you with all 
my heart.” 

“You shall give it, then, on condition that you take in 
exchange something to buy a better breakfast.” 

“ No, no,” he replied; “by no means. Are you jesting? 
Are you too proud to accept a bit of bread? Alas! you 
see I have nothing else to offer you.” 

“Well, I accept it,” said Consuelo, holding out her 
hand; “your kindness makes me blush for my pride.” 

“Here! here! my dear young lady,” exclaimed the young 
man, joyously, “ take the bread and cut for yourself. Do 
not hesitate, for I am not a great eater, and I have had 
sufficient already for the whole day.” 

“But will you have an opportunity of purchasing 
more?” 

“ Is not bread to be had everywhere? Eat, then, if you 
wish to oblige me.” 

Consuelo did not require to be asked again, and fearing 
that she might otherwise seem ungrateful to her host, she 
sat down beside him and began to eat with a relish which 
the most dainty food at .the tables of the rich had never 
given her. 

“ What a good appetite you have !” said the boy. “ Ah, 
I am so glad to have met you; it makes me quite happy to 
see you eat. Take it all. We shall soon come to some 
• house or other, although the country here seems a desert.” 

“ You are not acquainted with it, then ?” said Consuelo, 
in a careless tone. 

“ It is the first time I have traveled it, although I know 
the way from Vienna to Pilsen, which is the road I have 
just come, and by which I am now about to return 
yonder.’’* 

“Where? to Vienna ?” 

“Yes, Vienna; are you also going there ?” 

Consuelo, uncertain whether she should accept her com- 
panion as a fellow-traveler, pretended not to hear him, in 
order to gain time fOr a reply. 


G0N8UEL0. 


426 


Pshaw! what am I saying replied the young man. 
‘‘ A young lady like you would not be going alone to 
Vienna. However, you are on a journey, for you too 
have a parcel and are on foot like myself. 

Consuelo determined to evade this question until she saw 
how far she might trust him, and hit upon the plan of 
replying to one question by asking another. 

‘‘ You are from Pilsen, then she inquired. 

replied the boy, who had no motive for distrust, 

I am from Rohran in Hungary. My father is a cart- 
wright there.” 

‘‘And why do you travel so far from home? You do 
not follow your father’s trade, then ?” 

“I do, and I do not. My father is a Cartwright — I am 
not. But he is also a musician, and I aspire to become 
one.” 

“A musician? That is a noble calling.” 

“It is perhaps yours also ?” 

“ You are not going, however, to study music at Pilsen, 
which is merely a dull fortified town ?” 

“ Oh no, I have been entrusted with a commission for 
that quarter, and I am now on my way back to Vienna, to 
endeavor to gain a livelihood while I continue my studies.” 

“ Which have you embraced, vocal or instrumental 
music ?” 

“ Both, up to the present time. I have a tolerable 
voice, and I have a poor little violin, by which lean make 
myself understood; but my ambition is great, and I would 
go yet further.” 

“Become composer, perhaps ?” 

“ You have hit it. There is nothing in my head but 
this weary composition. I shall show you in my traveling 
bag a famous companion. It is a book which I have cut 
in pieces in order to be able to carry some portions 
of it with me over the country. When I am tired walk- 
ing I sit down in some corner and read a little ; that 
refreshes me.” 

“It is well done. I would wager that your book is the 
Gradus ad Parnassum of Fuchs.” 

“ Precisely. Ah, I see you are acquainted with it, and 
I am now sure that you also are a musician. Just now, 
while you slept, I looked at you, and said to myself, that 
is not a G-erman countenance, it is from the south—' 


426 


C0N8UEL0. 


Italian, perhaps — and what is more, it is the countenance 
of an artist. It was for that reason you made me so happy 
by asking me for bread. I now perceive that you have a 
foreign accent, although no one could speak better Ger- 
man.’^ 

‘^You might be deceived. You have not a German 
countenance, either. Your complexion is Italian, and 
yet ” 

Oh, you are very kind, mademoiselle. I know I have 
the complexion of an African, and my companions in the 
choir of St. Stephen used to call me the Moor. But to 
return to what I was saying; when I found you sleeping 
alone there in tlie middle of the wood I was a little sur- 
prised. Then a hundred ideas occurred to me respecting 
you. ‘It is, perhaps,^ thought I, ‘my happy star which 
has led me hither to meet one who may be of use to me.^ 
But shall I tell you every thing ?” 

“ Say on without fear.” 

“ Observing that you were too well dressed and too fair 
for a poor wayfarer, but that you had a bundle with you, 
I imagined that you might be connected with some 
stranger — an artist, perhaps — oh, a great artist — she whom 
I seek and whose protection would be my glory and my 
happiness! Come, mademoiselle, tell me the truth ; you 
are from some neighboring castle, and you have been on 
business in the vicinity ? You must surely know the 
Castle of the Giants ?” 

“ You mean Riesenburg. And are you going there ?” 

“ At least I am trying; but I have so lost myself in this 
abominable wood, in spite of the directions which they 
gave me at Klatau, that I do not know whether I shall be 
able to find my way out of it. Happily you know Riesen- 
burg, and you will have the goodness to inform me if I am 
still far from it.” 

“But what are you going to do at Riesenburg ?” 

“I wish to see the Porporina.” 

“ Indeed ?” And Consuelo, fearing to discover herself 
to a traveler who might speak of her at the Castle of the 
Giants, recovered herself sufficiently to ask with an indif- 
ferent air: 

‘•And who is the Porporina ?” 

“Do you not know? Alas, you must be indeed a 
Stranger in this country. But since you are a musician, 


C0N8UEL0. 


427 


and know the name of Fuchs, without doubt you are ac- 
quainted with that of Porpora/' 

And do you know Porpora ?’^ 

“Not yet; it is because I wish to know him that I seek 
to obtain the protection of his famous and beloved pupil, 
the Signora PorporiiiaP' 

“ Tell me how this idea came into your head. I might 
perhaps assist you to find her out.” 

“I shall relate my history. I am, as I have already told 
you, the son of a Cartwright, and a native of a small town 
on the confines of Hungary. My father is sacristan and 
organist in the village. My mother, who had been cook 
to the lord of our district, has a fine voice, and my father, 
to refresh himself after *his work, used to accompany her 
in the evenings on the harp. In this manner a love of 
music was instilled into me, and I recollect that my 
greatest pleasure when I was quite a child, was to join our 
family concerts with a bit of wood which I sawed with a 
lath, fancying all the while that I held a violin and bow in 
my hand and drew from it the most magnificent sounds. 
Oh, yes! it still seems to me, even yet, that my dear sticks 
were not dumb, but that a divine voice, unheard by others, 
floated around me and intoxicated me with celestial 
melody! 

“ Our cousin Franck, who was a schoolmaster at Haim- 
burg, came to see us one day when I was playing on my 
imaginary violin, and was amused at the kind of ecstacy in 
which I was plunged. He assured my parents that it was 
the indication of extraordinary talent, and he brought me 
with him to Haimburg, where he gave me a very rude 
musical education, I assure you. What fine organ stops, 
with beats and flourishes, he executed with his conducting 
baton on my fingers and ears ! Nevertheless, I was not 
discouraged. I learned to read and write; I had a real 
violin, which I learned the use of, as well as the rudiments 
of singing and the Latin language. I made as rapid a 
progress as was possible with so impatient a master as my 
cousin Franck. 

“I was about eight years old, when chance, or rather 
Providence, in which as a good Christian I have always 
believed, led me to the house of my cousin Keuter, chapel 
master of the cathedral at Vienna. I was presented to him 
as a little wonder, and when I had read with ease a piece 


428 


CONSUELO. 


at first si^ht, he took a fancy to me, broiiglit me to 
Vienna, and took me into St. Stephen as one of the clioir. 

There we had about two hours’ work each day, and 
the rest of the time being at our own disposal, we could 
wander about as we pleased. But my passion for music 
stifled in me the idleness and playfulness of childhood. 
When sporting in the square with my companions, the 
moment I heard the sound of the organ I left them, to enter 
the church and delight myself by listening to the hymns 
and the music. I forgot myself in the streets beneath 
windows from which issued the sounds of a concert, or 
even those of an agreeable voice. I was at once curious 
and desirous to know and understand every thing which 
struck my ear. Above all, I wished to compose. AVhen 
I was thirteen, I dared, without knowing any of the rules, 
to write a mass, which I showed to our master, lieu ter. 
He laughed at me, and advised me to learn before attempt- 
ing to create. That was easily said, but I had no means 
of paying a master; my parents were too poor to advance 
the needful sums for my support and education. At last 
one day they gave me six florins, with which I bought the 
book which you see and that of Mattheson, which 1 began 
to study with ardent delight. My voice improved, and 
was considered the most beautiful in the choir. Amidst 
all this uncertainty and ignorance, I felt my mind enlarge 
and my ideas develop themselves within me. But I saw 
with terror the period approaching when, according to the 
rules of the chapel, I should be obliged to leave the estab- 
lishment ; and beholding myself without resources and 
without masters, I asked myself if these eight years of 
study were really to be my last, and if I must return to 
my parents to learn the trade of a Cartwright. To add to 
my vexation, I saw that Master Keuter, in place of taking 
an interest in my welfare, treated me with increased 
severity, and only sought to hasten the period of my dis- 
missal. I know not why he disliked me, but I certainly 
did not deserve it. Some of my companions were silly 
enough to say that he was jealous of me because there was 
some degree of genius in my compositions, and that he 
was accustomed to hate and discourage young people who 
promised to surpass himself. I am far from having the 
vanity to accept this explanation as the true one, but 
doubtless he looked upon me as a brainless fool for having 
the presamptiou to §bow-bim my crude essays/^ 


C0N8UEL0, 


429 


And besides/^ said Consnelo, interrupting him, old 
teachers do not like to see their pupils appear to under- 
stand faster than they do themselves. But tell me your 
name, my child. 

I am called Joseph. 

Joseph what?” 

“Joseph Haydn.” 

“ I will endeavor to recollect this name, so that, if one 
day you should turn out a distinguished man, I shall know 
what to think of the hatred of your master, and the 
interest with which you inspire me. But proceed, if you 
please.” 

Young Haydn resumed his narrative in the following 
words, while Consuelo, struck by the similarity of their 
artistic and poverty-stricken destiny, looked attentively at 
the countenance of the young chorister. His insignificant 
sallow countenance became singularly animated during his 
recital; his blue eyes sparkled with genial fire, and every 
thing he said and did bespoke no ordinary mind. 


CHAPTER LXVI. 

“ Whatever may have been the cause of Master 
Reuter’s antipathy, he displayed it toward me very 
harshly and for a very trifling cause. I happened 
to have a pair of new scissors, which, like a child as I 
was, I tried on every thing I could lay my hands on. 
One of my companions having turned his back toward 
me, and his long cue, of which he was very vain, 
dangling across the chalked notes on my slate, a fatal idea 
came on the instant into my head. Snip went the scis- 
sors, and lo ! the cue lay on the ground ! My master 
followed all my movements with the eye of a vulture, and 
before my poor comrade was aware of his loss, I was 
reprimanded, stamped with infamy, and sent about my 
business without further ceremony. 

“I left the establishment in the month of November 
last year, at seven o’clock in the evening, and found my- 
self in the streets without money or clothes, except the 
tattered garments on my back. I was in despair, and 
thought, in seeing myself thus dismissed, that I had been 


430 


CONSUELO, 


guilty of some dreadful crime. Tliereupon I began to 
weep and cry, when my companion, whose head I had thus 
dishonored, passed me weeping likewise. Kever were so 
many tears or so much remorse seen before or since for a 
Prussian cue. I could have thrown myself into his 
arms — at his feet; but I dared not, and hid my shame in 
the darkness. Yet perhaps the poor lad wept for my dis- 
grace more than liis own loss. 

I spent the night in the streets; and as I was sighing 
next morning when thinking of the impossibility of pro- 
curing a breakfast, I was met by Keller, the barber to tlie 
chapel. He* had been just dressing Master Reuter, who, 
in his fury, had talked of nothing but the terrible loss of 
the cue. The facetious Keller, perceiving my distress, 
burst into a loud fit of laughter, and overwhelmed me 
with sarcasms. ^ So, so,’ cried he as . far as he could see 
me; ^ there goes the scourge of wigmakers, the enemy of 
all, who, like myself, profess to deal with hair! Ho! my 
little executioner of cues, my little ravager of love-locks! 
come hither till I trim your dark curls, as a set-off for all 
the cues that are destined to fall by your hands!’ I was 
furious — desperate; I hid my face in my hands, and think- 
ing I was the object of general indignation, was about to 
fly. The good Keller, however, (flopped me, exclaiming 
with a gentle voice, ^ My poor little fellow, where are you 
going? — with no food, no friends, no clothes, and such a 
crime on your conscience! Come, I shall have pity on 
you, especially on account of your sweet voice, which I 
have so often heard at the cathedral. I have but one 
apartment for myself and my children, on the fifth story, 
but then I have a garret higher up, which is not occupied, 
and which is at your service. You shall live with me till 
you get something to do, on the condition, however, that 
you spare my customers and do not try your fine scissors 
on my wigs.’ 

I followed the generous Keller — my preserver and 
father. Besides board and lodging, he even gave me, 
poor as he was, a little mone}^ to enable me to pursue my 
studies.. I hired an old worm-eaten harpsichord, and 
there, with my Fuchs and my Mattheson, I gave myself up 
without restraint to my ardor for composition. From this 
moment I considered myself the favorite of Providence. 
The six first sonatas of Emmanual Bach were my delight 


coNsmm 


431 


all that winter, and I think I learned and understood 
them thoroughly. At the same time Heaven rewarded 
my zeal and perseverance, permitting me to procure a 
little occupation, by which I managed to live and recom- 
pense my dear host. I played the organ every Sunday in the 
chapel of Count Haugwitz, after having taken, in the 
morning, the part of first violin in the church of the Mer- 
ciful Brethren. Besides I found two protectors. One is, 
an abbe, who writes Italian verses, very beautiful, they’ 
say, and approved of by her majesty, the empress. He is 
called Metastasio; and as he lives in the same house with 
Keller and myself, I give lessons to a young lady wlio is 
his niece. My other protector is his highness the Vene- 
tian ambassador. 

‘^Signor Corner?’' exclaimed Consuelo, hastily. 

^‘Ah! you know him then,” replied Hadyn; “it was 
Metastasio who introduced me into his house. My hum- 
ble talents pleased him, and his excellency promised that 
I should have lessons from Master Porpora, who is at this 
moment at the baths of Manendorf with Madam Wilhel- 
mina, his excellency’s lady. This promise, that I should 
become the pupil of the first professor of singing in the 
universe, filled me with joy. To learn the pure and cor- 
rect principles of Italian composition! I looked on myself 
as saved, and blessed my stars, as if I were already myself 
a maestro. But his excellency’s good intentions were not 
so easily realized as I expected; and unless I obtain a more 
powerful recommendation, I fear I shall never be able even 
to approach Porpora. It is said that the illustrious master 
is strange, rough, unhappy in his temper; and while he is 
as attentive, generous, and devoted to some pupils, he is 
just as capricious to others. Reuter, it seems, is nothing 
in comparison to Porpora, and I tremble at the very idea 
of seeing him. He has refused all the proposals of the 
ambassador, saying that he will take no more pupils. But 
as I know that the Signor Corner will persist, I still ven- 
ture to hope, as I am determined to put up with every re- 
buff, so that I succeed at last.” 

“Your resolution,” said Consuelo, “is highly praise- 
worthy. The great master’s rude and forbidding manners 
were not exaggerated; but you have reason to hope ; for, 
with patience, submission, talent, and judgment, I prom- 
ise you that after three or four lessons you will find him 


432 


CONBUELO. 


the mildest and most conscientious of masters. Perhaps 
even, if your heart and disposition correspond with your 
understanding, Porpora will prove himself a firm friend, a 
just and beneficent father.^'’ 

''Oh! you fill me with joy. I see that you know him, 
and that you must also know his famous pupil, the new 

Countess of Rudolstadt — the Porporina ’’ 

"But where have you heard this Porporina spoken of, 
and what do you expect from her?^^ 

" I expect a letter from her to Porpora, and her 
recommendation to him when she comes to Venice; for she 
will doubtless proceed there after her marriage with the 
rich lord of Riesenburg.'’^ 

" How did you hear of this marriage?'^ 

"By the greatest chance in the world. I must tell you 
that, last month, my friend Keller heard that a relation of 
his at Pilsen had just died, and left him a little property. 
Keller had neither time nor means to undertake the jour- 
ney, and did not venture to determine upon it, for fear that 
the inheritance should not pay the expense of his trip, and 
the loss of his time. I had just received some money for my 
labor, and I offered to go and attend to his interests. I 
have just been at Pilsen, and, during the week I passed 
there, I have had the satisfaction of seeing Keller^s inheri- 
tance realized. It is little, no doubt, but that little is not 
to be despised by him; and I carry with me the titles of a 
small property, which he can sell or let out as he shall 
judge best. Returning from Pilsen I found myself yes- 
terday evening in a place called Klatau, where I passed 
the night. It had been a market-day, and the inn wasfull 
of people. I was seated near a table where a large fat man 
was eating, whom they called Doctor AVetzelius, and who 
is the greatest gourmand and the greatest babbler I ever 
met with. 'Do you know the news?^ said he to his 
neighbors; ' Count Albert of Rudolstadt — he who is mad, 
almost a complete maniac — is going to marry his cousin’s 
music mistress, an adventuress, a beggar, who has been, 
they say, an actress in Italy.’ The old "buffoon Avent on to 
relate a variety of anecdotes concerning the Porporina, all 
of which tended to proA^e that she had imposed on and 
basely deceived her Avorthy hosts at Riesenburg.” 

"Oh! it is horrible; it is infamous!” cried Consuelo, 
almost beside herself. "It is a tissue of abominable calum- 
nies and revolting absurdities.” 


CONSUELO. 


433 


‘‘ Do not believe that I gave credence to it for an in- 
stant,” returned Joseph Haydn; tlie face of the old doc- 
tor was as stupid as it was wicked, and before they had 
given him the lie, I was already convinced that he was re- 
tailing only slanders and falsehoods. But liardly had he 
ended his story when five or six young men wlio were near 
him, took the young lady’s part, and it was thus that I 
learned the truth. Each praised the beauty, the grace, the 
modesty, the sense, and the incomparable talent of the 
Porporina. All approved of Count Albert’s passion for her, 
envied his happiness, and admired the old count for having 
consented to the union. Doctor Wetzelius was treated as 
an insane dotard, and as they spoke of the high esteem 
which Master Porpora felt for a pupil to whom he had 
consented to give his name, the idea occurred to me of go- 
ing to Kiesenburg, throwing herself at the feet of the 
future or perhaps tlie present countess (for they said the 
marriage was already celebrated, but kept secret for fear of 
offending the court), relating my history to her and en- 
deavoring to procure from her the favor of becoming the 
pupil of her illustrious master.” 

Oonsuelo remained some instants buried in thought; the 
last words of Joseph respecting the court had struck her. 
But quickly recovering herself: ^^My child,” said she, ^'do 
not go to Eiesenburg, you will not find the Porporina 
there. She is not married to the Count of Kudolstadt, 
and nothing is less certain than this marriage. It has been 
talked of, it is true, and I believe the betrothed were 
worthy of each other; but the Porporina, although she 
felt for Count Albert a sincere friendship, a high esteem, 
and a respect without bounds, thought she ought not to 
decide lightly upon so serious a matter. She weighed, on 
the one side, the injury she might inflict on that illustrious 
family, by causing them to lose the good graces and per- 
haps the protection of the empress, as well as the esteem of 
the other nobles and the consideration of the whole coun- 
try; and on the other, the injury she would inflict on her- 
self, by renouncing the practice of that divine art which 
she had passionately studied and embraced with courage. 
She said to herself that the sacrifice was great on both 
sides, and that, before deciding on it hastily, she ought to 
consult Porpora, and give the young count time to dis- 
cover if his passion would r(?sist the effects of absence, 


434 


C0N8UEL0. 


Therefore she set out suddenly for Vienna on foot, without 
a guide, almost without money, but with the hope of thus 
restoring repose and reason to one who loves her, and 
of carrying away, of all the riches that were offered to her 
only the testimony of her conscience and the pride of her, 
profession as an artist.” 

Oh! she is indeed a true artist! She has a powerful 
mind and a noble soul, if she has acted thus !” cried Jos- 
eph, fixing his sparkling eyes on Consuelo; ^^and if I am 
not deceived it is to her that I speak — it is before her that 
I kneel.” 

It is she who holds out her hand to you, and who 
offers you her friendship, her advice and support with 
Porpora; for it appears to me we shall travel together; 
and if God protects us, as He has hitherto protected us 
both, as He protects all those who trust only in Him, we 
shall soon be at Vienna, and shall take our lessons from 
the same master.” 

God be praised!” cried Haydn, weeping with joy, and 
raising his hands enthusiastically toward heaven ; some- 
thing whispered to me when I saw you asleep, that you 
were no common being; and that my life — my destiny 
— were in your hands!” 


CHAPTER LXVII. 

When the young people had made a more ample acquain- 
tance, by discussing on each side in friendly chat the de- 
tails of their situation, they thought of the precautions and 
arrangements necessary for their journey to Vienna. The 
first thing they did was to take out their purses and count 
their money. Consuelo was still the richer of the two; but 
their united funds would only furnish means suflScient to 
enable them to travel agreeably on foot, without suffering 
from hunger, or sleeping in the open air. They could not 
hope for any thing better, and Consuelo had already made 
up her mind to it. Still, notwithstanding the philosophi- 
cal gaiety she manifested on this subject, Joseph was anx- 
ious and thoughtful. 

^"What is the matter with you?” said she; '^perhaps 
you are afraid of my company proving an embarrassment 


CONSUELO, 


435 


to yon, and yet I will wager that I can walk better than 
you/^ 

‘‘You ought to do every thing better than 1 ” replied 
he ; “ it is not that which troubles me. But I am sorry 
• and even frightened when I think how young and hand- 
some you are, and how every one must admire you that 
sees you ; while I am so mean and little, that though I 
were resolved to die for you a thousand times, my strength 
would not suffice for your protection. 

“What are you thinking of, my poor child? Do you 
suppose that, even if I were handsome enough to attract 
the attention of the passers-by, a woman who respects her- 
self does not know always how to repel 

“Ugly or handsome, faded or young, bold or modest, 
you would not be safe on these roads, covered as they are 
with disbanded soldiers and scoundrels of every descrip- 
tion. Since the peace, the country swarms with soldiers 
returning to their garrisons, and especially with licensed 
volunteers, who in order to increase their means, pillage 
travelers, put whole districts under contribution, and 
treat the country as a conquered land. I am thinking 
seriously of changing our route ; and in place of going by 
Piseck and Budweiss — fortified towns, and consequently 
frequented by all sorts of military stragglers and others 
not much better — of descending the course of the Moldau, 
and keeping in the gorges of the almost deserted moun- 
tains, where cupidity and rascality find nothing to attract 
them, proceed along the bank of the river as far as Reiche- 
nau, and enter Austria by Freistadt. Once there, we 
shall be under the protection of a better police than exists 
in Bohemia.'’^ 

“ You know this road, then?’' 

“ I do not even know if there be one ; but I have a 
small map in my pocket, for I took it into my head on 
leaving Pilsen to try and return by the mountains, so as to 
see a little of the country.” 

“It seems a good idea,” said Con suelo, looking at the 
map ; “ there are footpaths every where, and cabins for 
the reception of those whose means are slender. I see 
here in fact a chain of mountains which extend to the 
source of the Moldau, and which border the river.” 

“ It is the great Boehmer Wald, which contains the 
highest mountains in the range, and serves as a boundary 


436 


GONSUELO. 


between Bavaria and Bohemia. We can easily reach it ; 
and by keeping on tlie heights, can always ascertain the 
valleys which lead down to the two provinces. Since— 
Heaven be thanked! — I have no longer to deal with this 
hidden Castle of the Giants, I am certain of guiding you * 
aright, and not taking a longer route than is needful.'’^ 

Let us set out then,” said Consuelo. . I feel per- 
fectly refreshed ; my sleep and your good bread have 
restored my strength, and I can accomplish at least ten 
miles to-day. Besides I am anxious to leave this neighbor- 
hood, where I expect every instant to meet some one who 
knows me.” 

Stop!” said Joseph ; a strange idea occurs to me.” 

What is it?” 

If you did not object to put on man^s attire, you 
could then preserve your iitcognito perfect, and you would 
escape all the disagreeable consequences which might result 
from seeing a young girl traveling alone with a youth.” 

“ It is not a bad idea, but you forget our scanty means. 
Besides, where could I find clothes that would fit me?” 

‘^Listen; I should not have proposed this step if I had 
not had the means of putting it in execution. We are 
precisely the same height — which is more honorable to you 
than me — and I have in my bag an entire suit of clothes, 
perfectly new, which will disguise you completely. The 
reason I happened to have them is that they are a present 
from my good mother, who thought they would be useful 
to me when going to the embassy, and giving lessons to 
young ladies. They were made by the village tailor, and 
certainly the costume is sufficiently picturesque, and the 
materials well selected, as you may see. But imagine the 
sensation I would have produced at the embassy, and the 
wicked laughter of Metastasio’s niece, if I had appeared in 
this rustic doublet and puffed-out pantaloons. I thanked 
my poor mother, but promised to myself that I would sell 
the dress to some peasant or strolling actor, This is how 
I happened to have the suit with me, but fortunately, as 
it has turned out, I was unable to get rid of it. The peo- 
ple here have an idea that it is some old Polish or Turkish 
fashion.” 

Well, the opportunity of doing so has arrived at last,” 
said Consuelo, laughing. Your idea is an excellent one, 
and the traveling actress will be content with your Turkish 


aomuBLo. 


dress, which is riot very unlike a petticoat. I shall take it 
on credit, or rather on condition that you will take charge 
of our strong box, as Frederick of Prussia used to call it, 
and advance the needful funds until we reach Vienna.” 

‘^We shall see about that,” said Joseph, putting the 
purse into his pocket, firmly resolved not to let her pay. 
‘‘In the meantime we must see if the dress fits you. I 
shall take myself otf to the wood, and you will find many a 
spacious secluded boudoir among these rocks.” 

“Enter upon the stage,” replied Oonsuelo, pointing 
toward the forest, “ while I retire behind the scenes.” 

She hastened behind the rocks and proceeded to trans- 
form herself, while her respectful companion removed to a 
distance. The fountain served her as a mirror, and it 
was not without pleasure that she saw herself converted 
into the prettiest little peasant that the Slavonic race ever 
produced. Her slender and agile figure was encircled by 
a large woollen belt, her ankles, slender as those of a roe, 
appeared below the heavy folds of her Turkish pantaloons, 
and her dark hair, in which she had never worn powder, 
had been cropped short during her illness, and curled 
naturally about her face. She ran her fingers through it, 
in order to give it the rustic negligence becoming a yoiing 
shepherd. She wore her costume with theatrical grace, 
and assuming, thanks to her mimic- talents, an air of rustic 
simplicity, she found herself so completely disguised, that 
on the instant a sense of courage and security returned, 
and as it happens to actors when they have doniied their 
costume to appear on the stage, she identified herself with 
her part so thoroughly, as to experience all the careless 
freedom and innocent gaiety of a schoolboy playing truant 
in the woods. 

She had to whistle three times before Hadyn, who had 
withdrawn further than was necessary into the wood, 
either to testify his respect, or to escape the temptation of 
turning his eyes toward the openings in the rocks, returned 
to her. He uttered a cry of surprise and admiration on 
seeing her, and although he had expected to find her com- 
pletely disguised, could hardly believe his eyes. The 
transformation became Oonsuelo prodigiously, and at the 
same time gave an entirely different turn to the young 
man^s imagination. 

The kind of pleasure which the beauty of a woman pro- 


438 


COI^StTMO. 


duces on an adolescent is always mingled with feai‘, and 
the dress that makes her, even in the eyes of the most 
daring, a being so veiled and so mysterious, has much to 
do with this feeling of agitation and disquietude. 

But the change of costume, which was so completely 
successful as to seem a real change of sex, suddenly 
changed also the disposition of the young man^s mind. 
He no longer apparently felt any thing more than that 
warm and brotherly attachment which springs up between 
two travelers of kindred feelings and sentiments. The 
same desire to travel and see the country, the same security 
as to the dangers of the road, and the same sympathizing 
gaiety, which animated Consuelo at this instant, took pos- 
session of him also, and they began their journey through 
wood and meadow as gay and joyous as two birds of 
passage. 

However, after proceeding a few steps, he forget that she 
was a boy, on seeing her carry over her shoulder, on the 
end of a stick, her little packet, now enlarged by the ad- 
dition of her own dress. A dispute arose between them 
on this point. Consuelo affirmed that with his bag, his 
violin, and the music of the Gradus ad Parnassum, he 
was sufficiently burthened, while Joseph, on his side, de- 
clared that he would put Oonsuelo’s packet in his bag, and 
that she should carry nothing. She had to yield yie point, 
but in order that she might seem the character which she 
assumed, as well as to keep up an appearance of equality 
between them, he allowed lier to carry the violin. 

You know,^’ said Consuelo, in order to induce him to 
submit, that I must be your servant, or at least your 
guide, because I am plainly a peasant while you are a 
citizen. 

'"What! a citizen?” replied Hadyn, laughing, "I dare 
say I have something the cut of Keller’s apprentice.” But 
the good youth felt a little mortified in not being able to 
appear before Consuelo in better trim than was possible 
from the state of his clothes, faded by the sun, and some- 
what the worse of the wear. 

" Ho,” said Consuelo, in order to relieve his mind : 
"you are the prodigal son returning to the paternal 
home, with the gardener’s boy, the companion of his 
rambles.” 

"I believe we had better assume the parts appropriate 


GONSUELO. 


439 


to our situation,” replied Joseph. We can only pass for 
what we really are — poor wandering artists. We might 
even say, if we are questioned, that we have been making 
a professional tour. I can speak of the celebrated village 
of Rohran which nobody knows, and of the grand city of 
Haimburg about which nobody cares. As for you, your 
pretty accent will betray you, and you had better not deny 
that you are an Italian, and a singer by profession.” 

‘^By the bye, we must have suitable names; yours is 
quite new to me. I should, conformably to my Italian 
manners, call you Beppo; it is the contraction of Joseph.” 

Call me what you will, I shall be equally unknown by 
one name as by another. It is quite different with you ; 
you must positively have a name. What do you choose?” 

The first short Venetian name that occurs — Nello, 

Maso, Renzo, Zoto oh! not that,” she exclaimed, after 

having uttered involuntarily the childish abbreviation of 
Anzoleto. 

^‘Why not?” replied Joseph, who observed her hasty 
exclamation. 

‘‘It would be an unlucky one; they say there are such 
names.” 

“Well, then, what shall we call you?” 

“Bertoni. That is an Italian name, and a kind of di- 
minutive of Albert.” 

“II Signor Bertoni! that sounds well,” said Joseph, try- 
ing to smile. But this indication of Consuelo’s regard for 
her noble betrothed struck a dagger to his heart. He 
watched her as she bounded before him, as light and agile 
as a young fawn. “By the bye,” said he to himself, by 
way of comfort, “ I forgot he was a boy!” 


CHAPTER LXVIII. 

They soon found the boundary of the forest, and turned 
toward the southeast. Consuelo's head was uncovered, but 
Joseph, although observing the sun scorch her beautifully 
clear complexion, dared not express his regret. The hat 
which he himself wore not being new, he could not offer it 
to her; and feeling his anxiety useless, he did not wish to 
say any thing about it. But he placed his own hat under 


440 


CONSUELO. 


his arm with an abrupt movement which his companion 
remarked. 

Well, that is a strange idea,” said she; ^^it would seem 
as if you found the air close and the plain shaded with 
trees. It reminds me that I have nothing on my own 
head ; but as I have not always had every comfort within 
my reach, I know many ways of procuring them at little 
cost.” So saying, she snatched a clustering vine-branch, 
and rolling it into a circle, she made of it a cap of verdure. 

“ Now she has something the jfir of a Muse,” thought 
Joseph, and the boy vanishes afresh!” They were now 
passing through a village, and Joseph seeing one of those 
shops where they sell every thing, rushed in suddenly ere 
she could prevent him, and immediately appeared again 
with a little straw hat with broad rims flapping over the 
ears, such as is worn by the peasants of the Danube. 

“ If you begin by luxuries,” said she, trying on this new 
headdress, we may want bread before our journey is 
over.” 

Want bread?” exclaimed Joseph, eagerly ; I would 
rather beg by the way-side and tumble in the streets for 
pence I Oh, no ! you shall want for nothing with me.” 
Then seeing that Consuelo was surprised at his enthusi- 
asm, he added somewhat more composedly: ‘‘Reflect, 
Siynor Bertoniy that all my prospects depend on you, that 
you are as it were in my charge, and that I am bound to 
bring you safe and sound to Master Porpora.” 

The idea that her companion should fall in love with her 
never entered Oonsuelo’s mind. Modest and single- 
minded women rarely entertain such ideas, which coquettes 
on the contrary are forever hatching. Besides even very 
young women usually esteem men of their own age as 
children, and Consuelo was two years older than Haydn, 
who was so small and meager that he seemed hardly fifteen. 
She knew very well that he was more, but she never could 
have supposed that love had dawned upon his imagination. 
It was evident, however, that Joseph experienced some ex- 
traordinary emotion, for once when she stopped to breathe 
a little and admire the lofty prospebt, she detected him 
gazing at her with a sort of ecstasy. 

“ What is the matter with you, friend Beppo?” said she, 
artlessly, “ methinks you are melancholy; I cannot get it 
out of my head that I am a burthen to you.” 


C0N8UEL0. 


441 


‘‘Do not say tbat/^ said lie, witli much emotion ; “it 
v/ere to refuse me that esteem and confidence for which I 
would gladly give my life/’ 

“In that case do not look so sad unless you have some 
vexation at heart that you have not told me of.” 

Joseph fell into a gloomy silence, and they walked on 
for a long time before he was able to break it. But the 
longer the silence continued, the greater became his confu- 
sion and his fear of being found out. At last, unable to 
resume the conversation, he said abruptly: 

“Do you know what I was thinking seriously of?” 

“ No; I cannot guess,” replied Cpnsuelo, who during all 
this time was lost in her own reflections, and did not 
observe his silence. 

“ I was thinking that if it would not tire you, you might 
teach me Italian as we went along. I began with books 
this winter, but having no one to guide me in the pronun- 
ciation, I dare not pronounce a word before you. Never- 
theless I understand what I read, and if you would be so 
good as to cause me to surmount my false shame, and 
would teach me syllable by syllable, I think I have so cor- 
rect an ear that you would not lose your trouble.” 

“ Oh, with all my heart,” replied Consuelo. “ It would 
delight me if every one would thus employ their leisure 
moments in self-instruction; and as we learn by teaching 
others the exercise will serve to improve us both in the pro- 
nunciation of so musical a language. You think I am an 
Italian, but I am not, although my accent is tolerably pure. 
However, I pronounce perfectly only when I sing ; and, 
when I wish you to seize the harmony of Italian sounds, I 
shall sing the difficult words to you. I am persuaded that 
no one pronounces badly who does not hear badly. If your 
ear appreciates the shades of sound, it will be but an eifort 
of memory to repeat them correctly.” 

“ That would be at the same time an Italian and a sing- 
ing lesson,” exclaimed Joseph, “and a lesson which would 
last fifty leagues,” thought he in his ecstacy. “Ah ! long 
live art, the least dangerous and ungrateful of all our 
passions.” 

The lesson began that instant, and Consuelo had at first 
some difficulty in not laughing outright at every word he 
uttered, but she was soon amazed at the facility and just- 
ness with which he corrected himself. However, the young 


443 


COmUBLO. 


musician, who was (lying to hear the famous sin ger^s Voice, 
and who did not see an opportunity present itself quickly 
enough, succeeded by a little stratagem. He pretended to 
be greatly embarrassed in giving to the Italian d the 
proper force, and he sung a phrase from Leo, where the 
word Felicitid is several times repeated. Immediately 
Consuelo, without stopping or being more out of breath 
than if she were seated at the harpsichord, sang it several 
times. When he lieard her glorious accents, so much su- 
perior to those of any other singer then existing, Joseph 
felt a thrill run through his whole frame, and he could not 
help clasping his hands in passionate admiration. 

“It is now your turn to try,” said Consuelo, without 
perceiving his transports. 

Haydn tried and succeeded so well that the young pro- 
fessor clapped her hands. 

“Extremely well,” said she good-naturedly, “you learn 
quickly and you have a magnificent voice.” 

“ You may say what you like of it,” replied Joseph, 
“ but I feel that I can never trust myself to speak of you.” 

“And wherefore?” said Consuelo. But turning toward 
him she saw that his eyes were filled with tears, and his 
hands were clasped in ecstasy. 

“Let us sing no more,” said she, “here are some horse- 
men coming toward us.” 

“Ah! yes,” exclaimed Joseph, quite beside himself ; “do 
not let them hear you, for they would instantly throw 
themselves on their knees at your feet.” 

“ I do not fear these frantic lovers of song. See, they 
are only butchers’ boys with their calves behind them.” 

“Ah, pulldown your hat, turn your head away,” said 
Joseph, with a jealous pang. “Do not let them see you, 
do not let them hear vou I Let no one see or hear you but 
me.” 

The remainder of the day was passed in serious study or 
gay and animated conversation. In the midst of his in- 
toxication, Joseph did not know whether he was a trem- 
bling adorer of beauty or a devoted admirer of art. At 
once a dazzling idol and a delightful companion, Consuelo 
filled all his thoughts and transported his whole being. 
Toward evening he perceived that she walked with diffi- 
culty, and that fatigue had quenched her gaiety. Indeed 
for several , hours previously, notwithstanding their fre- 


G0N8UEL0. 


443 


queut halts in the shady .parts of the road, she had felt very 
weary. But she wished it to be so, and even had it not been 
evident that she must soon leave that part of the country, 
she would have sought in motion and a sort of forced 
gaiety, for forgetfulness of her mental pain and sulfering. 
The shades of evening, which now gave a melancholy 
aspect to the country, brought back to her mind the sad 
feelings which she had so courageously combated. She 
then imagined to herself the mournful evening which was 
about to commence at the Castle of the Giants, and the dreary 
night which Albert might spend. Overcome by this idea, 
she involuntarily stopped at the foot of a large wooden 
cross on the summit' of a naked hill, which marked the 
scene of some miracle or traditional crime. 

‘‘Alas! you are more fatigued than you are willing to 
allow,^^ said Joseph; “but a resting-place is at hand, for 
I see in the distance the light gleaming from the cot- 
tages of a hamlet. You think perhaps that I would not 
be strong enough to carry you, nevertheless if you will 
trust 

“ My child 1’^ replied she, smiling, “you are very proud 
of your sex; but I beg of you not to despise mine, and to 
believe that I have more strength left than you have your- 
self. I am out of breath climbing this ascent, that is all; 
and if I pause it is because I wish to sing.-’^ 

“Heaven he praised !” exclaimed Joseph. “Sing then 
at the foot of this cross; but it will only tire you still 
more.^^ 

“It will not take long,^’ said Consuelo; “it is a fancy 
which seized me to sing a little Spanish hymn, which my 
mother made me repeat every morning and evening, wher- 
ever we met a chapel or a cross. 

Oonsuelo^s idea was even more romantic than she was 
willing to admit. In thinking of Albert she recollected 
his almost supernatural faculty of seeing aud hearing at 
a distance. She fancied that at this very moment he 
thought of, and perhaps saw her; and thinking it might 
soothe his pain were she to sing to him, though night and 
distance separated them, she mounted the stones which 
supported the cross, and turning toward Kiesenburg, she 
sung at the. full pitch of her voice the Spanish hymn, 
commencing: 


“ 0 Consuelo de mi alma. 


444 


CONStTELO. 


^‘Oli Heavens!” exclaimed Hadyn, when she had finished, 
and speaking to himself, I never heard singing before. 
1 did not even know what singing was. Are there other 
human voices like this? I will never hear any thing 
similar to what has been revealed to me to-day. 0, music 
— thrice sacred music! 0, genius of art, thou dost con- 
sume me — thou dost terrify me!” 

Consuelo came down from the stone, where, like another 
Madonna, her profile stood out in relief against the clear 
azure of the night. Inspired like Albert, she fancied she 
saw him through the intervening woods and mountains, 
seated on the stone of Schreckenstein, calm, resigned, and 
filled with lioly expectation. He has perhaps heard me,” 
thought she, ‘^recognized my voice and the hymn which 
he loves, and will soon return to the castle, embrace his 
father, and perhaps spend a tranquil night.” 

^^All is going on well,” said she to Joseph, without 
heeding his passionate admiration. Then returning once 
again, she kissed the rude wood- work of the cross. Per- 
haps at this very moment, by some strange sympathy, 
Albert felt an electric impulse thrill through his melan- 
choly being, and flood his soul with divine rapture. It 
might be the very moment when he was sinking into his 
calm and refreshing slumber, in which his father would 
have the satisfaction of finding him on the returning 
dawn. 

The hamlet whose light they had perceived was nothing 
else than a large farm-house, where they were hospitably 
received. The honest and industrious laborers were eat- 
ing their evening meal before the door, on a table of rude 
structure, at which room was made for the travelers with- 
out bustle or constraint. The peasants did not ask them 
any questions, and scarcely looked at them. Fatigued 
with the toils of the scorching day, they enjoyed their 
simple but wholesome and nourishing fare with silent sat- 
isfaction.- Consuelo found the supper excellent, and did 
every honor to it. Joseph forgot to eat; besides, he was gaz- 
ing at Consuelo’s pale and noble countenance, which formed 
such a striking contrast with the sunburned peasants, 
tranquil and indifferent as the oxen that grazed around 
them, who made but little more noise than they did as 
they slowly ruminated. 

Each as he felt himself satisfied retired to rest, making 


CONSUELO. 


445 


a sign of the cross, and leaving the more robust to enjoy 
the pleasures of the table as they thought fit. The serving 
women and the children took the vacant places. More 
animated and curious than their predecessors, they retained 
and questioned the young travelers. Joseph gave them an 
account which he had ready prepared to satisfy them, and 
did not deviate much from the truth in telling them that 
his companion and himself were poor wanderins: musi- 
cians. 

What a pity it is not Sunday,^’ said one of the young- 
est girls, ^^for then we should have a dance. They cast 
inquiring glances on Consuelo, who appeared a pretty lad, 
and who, the better to sustain her part, looked boldly at 
them in return. For a moment she had sighed, when 
thinking of these delightful patriarchal manners, from 
which her wandering and artistic habits so widely severed 
her. But seeing these poor women standing up behind 
their husbands and cheerfully eating their leavings, some 
suckling their little ones, others slaves by instinct to their 
sons, and waiting upon them without minding their little 
girls or themselves, she perceived that they were no better 
than victims of hunger and necessity. The men chained 
to the soil, and servants to the cattle and the plow, the 
women chained to their masters, shut up in their houses 
in perpetual servitude, and condemned to unrelaxing 
labor, amidst all the sufferings and anxieties of maternity. 
The owner of the soil, on tlie one hand extorting the last 
penny of the husbandman’s wretched gains, on tlie other 
hand, imparting avarice and fear to the tenant, who in his 
turn doomed those under him to the same sordid, remorse- 
less necessity that he was subjected to liimself. Their 
apparent cheerfulness now seemed to Consuelo nothing 
more than the callous indifference of misfortune, or the 
deadening effect of toil, and slie felt that she would rather 
a thousand times be a wandering artist than lord or peas- 
ant, since the possession of the soil, or even of a grain of 
corn, seemed only to entail on the one side tyrannical 
exaction, and on the other meanness and sycophancy. 

Viva la Uberta!” said she to Joseph, speaking in Italian, 
while the women washed and laid aside the household 
utensils with huge clatter, and an aged crone plied her 
spinning-wheel with the regularity of a machine. 

Joseph was surprised to find that some of these peasants 


446 


CONSUELO. 


spoke German tolerably well. He learned that the head 
of the family, whom he had seen dressed in the costume of 
a peasant, like the rest, was of noble extraction, and had 
received some degree of fortune and education, but ruined by 
the wars of the succession, he had no other means of rearing 
his numerous family than that of becoming tenant to a 
neighboring abbey. This abbey ground him to the earth 
with tlieir exactions, and he was further obliged to liqui- 
date the imperial tax on religious houses, which was im- 
posed upon every change of their superior. This exaction 
was always levied from the vassals of the church, in addi- 
tion to their other obligations. As for the farm servants, 
they were serfs, and considered themselves no worse off 
than the individual who employed them. The person who 
farmed the tax was a Jew, and, sent by the abbey whom 
he harassed to the peasants whom he harassed still more, 
he had come that morning to collect a sum which exhausted 
the hard earnings of many years. So that between their 
Superiors and the Jewish extortioners, the poor agricult- 
urist did not know which to hate or dread the most. 

^^Did I not say truly, Joseph, said Consuelo, that we 
alone are rich in the world, who pay no tax on our voice, 
and only labor when we please ?” 

The hour for repose having now arrived, Consuelo felt 
so much fatigued that she had fallen asleep on a bench be- 
fore the door. Joseph, meanwhile, inquired about beds 
from the farmer^s wife. 

^^Beds, my child ?” replied she, smiling; ^'if we can 
give you one it will be very well, and you must be content 
with it.^' 

This reply made the blood rush into poor Josephus face, 
lie looked at Consuelo, and finding she did not hear a 
word of what passed, he suppressed his emotion. 

“My companion is sadly tired, said he, “and if you 
could give him a little bed to himself we will pay you 
whatever you ask. As for myself, a corner in the barn or 
in the stable will do very wellV^ 

“ Oh, if the boy is ill, we will on that account give him 
a bed in the common room; our three daughters can sleep 
together. But tell him to be very quiet and orderly, or 
else my husband or son-in-law, who sleep on the same 
floor, will soon bring him to reason.'’^ 

“ I can answer for the good conduct of my companion ; 


CONBUELO. 


447 


but perhaps he may still prefer sleeping in the hay to a 
chamber where there are so many people/^ 

The good Joseph had now to awaken Signor Bertoni in 
order to acquaint him with this arrangement. Consuelo 
was not shocked as he expected. She thought as the three 
girls slept in tlie same room as the father and son-in-law, 
she would be safer there than elsewhere, and having 
wished Joseph a good night, she glided behind the four 
curtains of brown woolen which inclosed the bed, and, 
scarcely taking time to undress, she soon slept soundly. 


CHAPTER LXIX. 

After a few hours of deep and dreamless repose, she 
was awakened by the continued noises around her. On 
one side the old grandmother, whose bed almost touched 
hers, coughed and wheezed distressingly; on the other was 
a young woman who suckled her infant, and sang lullabies 
to sooth it to sleep again; there were men who snored like 
horses, boys four in a bed quarreling with each other, 
women rising to quiet them and only adding to the up- 
roar by their threats and chidings. This perpetual 
annoyance, the crying children, the dirt, the heavy odors 
and heated atmosphere, became so disagreeable to Oon- 
suelo, that she could not bear it any longer. She dressed 
herself quietly, and seizing a moment when every one was 
asleep, she left the house and sought a corner where she 
could repose till daybreak. 

She thought she would rest better in the open air. Hav- 
ing walked all the preceding night, she did not feel the 
cold ; but, besides that she was now overwhelmed with 
fatigue and in a condition very dilferent from the excite- 
ment consequent on her departure, tlie climate of this ele- 
vated region was keener than the neighborhood of Riesen- 
burg. She shuddered, and a sense of severe indisposition 
made her fear she would be unable to support one day^s 
journey after another, without resting at night, when the 
beginning proved so disagreeable. In vain she reproached 
herself with having turned into a princess, in consequence 
of her luxurious life at the castle. She wouhriiave given 
all the world for an hour’s good sleep. 


CONSVELO, 


448 

However, not venturing to re-enter the house lest she 
should awaken or displease her hosts, she sought the barn, 
and finding the door partly open, crept in. Every thing 
was silent. Thinking that the place was empty, she lay 
down on a heap of straw ; the heat and the wholesome 
odor appeared delicious. 

She was just falling asleep, when she felt on her face a 
warm moist breath, which was suddenly withdrawn with a 
snort and what seemed to her a stifled imprecation. Her 
first apprehension being allayed, she perceived in the twi- 
light a huge head surmounted by two formidable horns, 
just above her. It was that of a fine cow which had 
thrust its head into the rack, and having breathed on her, 
drew back affrighted. Consuelo withdrew into the cor- 
ner, so as not to disturb her, and fell fast asleep. Her ear 
soon grew accustomed to all the noises of the place, to the 
clank of chains, the bellowing of heifers, and the rubbing 
of their horns against the bars. She did not awake even 
when the milkmaids came in to drive out the beasts to be 
milked in the open air. The dark corner where Consuelo 
had taken refuge hindered her from being observed, and 
the sun was high in the heavens when she next opened her 
eyes. Buried in the straw, she enjoyed for a few moments 
the comfort of her situation, and was delighted at feeling 
herself refreshed and rested, and ready to resume her jour- 
ney without effort or inquietude. 

When she started up to look for Joseph, the first object 
she encountered was Joseph himself seated beside her. 

You have occasioned me great uneasiness. Signor Ber- 
toni,” said he. When the young women informed me 
that you were not in the apartment, and that they did not 
know what had become of you, I sought you everywhere, 
and it was only in despair that I returned here where I 
passed the night, and where, to my great surprise, I have 
found you. I left the barn in the gray of the morning, 
and had little idea that you were then close by me, and 
under the very nose of this animal who might have hurt 
you. Really, signora, you are very rash, and you do not 
reflect on all the perils to which you expose yourself. 

You see, Joseph, replied Consuelo, that in my im- 
prudence Heaven does not abandon me, since it conducted 
me to you. It was Providence who caused me to meet 
you yesterday morning by the fountain, when you shared 


GONSUELO, 


449 


your good-will and your bread with me, and it was the 
same Providence which confided me this night to your 
brotherly care.” 

She then related to him, laughing, the disagreeable 
night she had passed in the common room, and how happy 
and tranquil she felt among the cows. 

Is it true then,” said Joseph, that the beasts have a 
more agreeable habitation and better manners than those 
who take care of them?” 

That is just what I was thinking of before I fell asleep 
in this manger. These animals caused me neither terror 
nor disgust, and I blamed myself for having contracted so 
aristocratic habits, that the society of my equals, and con- 
tact with their indigence, has become insupportable to me. 
How comes it so, Joseph? He who is born in poverty, 
should not experience, when he falls back into it, the dis- 
dainful repugnance to which I have yielded. When the 
heart is not perverted in the lap of luxury, why should one 
remain fastidious, as I have been to-night in shunning the 
nauseous warmth and noisy confusion of this poor swarm- 
ing human hive?” 

It is because cleanliness, purity, and order are doubt- 
less wants of all elevated minds,” replied Joseph. Who- 
ever is born an artist has the feeling of the beautiful and 
the good, just as he feels aversion for the hateful and ugly. 
And poverty is ugly! I am myself a peasant ; I was born 
in a cottage. But my parents were artists, and our house 
although small was neat and orderly. It is true that our 
poverty bordered on comfort, while excessive privation 
takes away even the sense of what is better.” 

^‘Poor people!” said Consuelo, ^Mf I were rich I would 
forthwith build them a house ; and were I a queen, I 
would put down these taxes, these Jews, and these monks 
who prey upon them.” 

If you were rich you would never think of it ; if you 
were a queen you would not do it. Thus runs the world.” 

The world runs very badly then.” 

^^Alas! yes; and without music, which transports the 
soul into an ideal world, we would be miserable when we 
think of what is going on here below.” 

It is easy to talk of being miserable, Joseph, but what 
good does it do? it is better to grow rich, and remain 
happy.” 


450 


C0N8UEL0. 


And how is that possible, unless all poor people were 
to turn artists?” 

That is not a bad idea, Joseph. If the poor had a 
love of art, it would ennoble their sufferings and lighten 
their misery. There would then exist no longer unclean- 
liness, discouragement, or neglect; and the rich would no 
longer harass and despise the poor. Artists, you know, 
are always somewhat respected.” 

^^Ah! I never thought of that before,” replied Hadyn. 

Art then may have a serious aim, and one truly useful 
to mankind?” 

“ What! did you think it was no better than an amuse- 
ment?” 

^^No, I held it to be a disease, a passion, a storm raging 
in the heart, a fever that communicated itself to others — 
in short if you know what it is, tell me.” 

I will tell you when I find out myself, Joseph; but it 
is something very great ; no doubt of that. Come, let us 
set out, and do not forget your violin — your only inherit- 
ance, friend Beppo, and the foundation of our future 
opulence.” 

They commenced by making preparations for break- 
fast, which they intended to eat upon the grass in some 
romantic spot; but when Joseph pulled out his purse and 
proposed to pay, the farmer’s wife smiled and would 
not hear of it. Whatever Consuelo could say she would 
take nothing, and she even watched her young guests to 
see that they slipped nothing to the children. Recol- 
lect,” said she, with some little evidence of disdain, 

that my husband is noble by birth, and that misfor- 
tune has not so far reduced him as to cause him to sell 
his hospitality.” 

^^This pride seems to me rather superfluous,” said Jos- 
eph to his companion when they had once more set out. 
“ There is more pride than charity in. the feeling which 
animates them.” 

“ I see nothing in it,” said Consuelo, but what is 
charitable, and I am ashamed at heart and repent to think 
that I could not put up with a house that harbored a 
wanderer like myself. Ah I accursed refinement, foolish 
delicacy of the spoiled children of the world! — thou art 
a malady, since thou art health to some only at the ex- 
pense of others!” 


C0N8UEL0. 


451 


For a great artist like you/’ said Joseph, I think 
you are somewhat too sensitive to worldly matters. Me- 
thinks an artist should be rather more indifferent* to what 
does not beseem his profession. They said in the inn at 
Klatau, where they talked about you and the Castle of the 
Giants, that Count Albert of Rudolstadt was a great phi- 
losopher with all his eccentricity. You knew very well, sig- 
nora, that one could not be both artist and philosopher, 
therefore you took yourself off. Do not trouble yourself 
any more then with human misfortune, and let us re- 
sume yesterday^s lesson. 

With all my heart, Beppo; but first learn that Count Al- 
bert is a greater artist than us both, philosopher as he is.’^ 

Indeed?’^ said Joseph with a sigh, ‘Mie seems to 
want no quality then to make him beloved.'’^ 

Nothing in my eyes but that of being poor and of 
humble birth, answered Consuelo; and interested by the 
attention which Joseph paid to her remarks, and stimu- 
lated by his timid questions, she yielded to the pleasure 
she felt in speaking openly and fully respecting her be- 
trothed. Each reply brought on a fresh explanation, 
until from one circumstance to another she came to relate 
minutely all the particulars of her preference for Albert. 
This confidence in a youth whom she had only known 
since the preceding morning, would, under any other cir- 
cumstances, have been imprudent. Certainly these cir- 
cumstances alone could justify it. However, Consuelo 
yielded to an irresistible impulse in recalling to her own 
mind and confiding to a friendly heart the virtues of her 
betrothed. And as she spoke she had the satisfaction of 
feeling that she loved Albert more than she could have sup- 
posed when promising to endeavor to love but him. Her 
imagination rose to a loftier height the greater the distance 
that intervened ; and all that was beautiful, and great, 
and excellent in his character, appeared in a more brilliant 
light when she felt herself no longer under the necessity 
of hastily coming to a positive decision. Her pride was 
soothed by the idea that she could no longer be accused of 
ambition, for in fiying him she renounced in some measure 
the worldly advantages connected with the proposed 
union. She could therefore without shame or restraint 
yield to the impulses of her soul. Anzoleto^s name never 
once passed her lips, and she felt with pleasure that she 


452 COMSUELO. 

had not once thought of mentioning him in the account of 
her stay in Bohemia. 

These disclosures, however rash or misplaced, brought 
about the best results. They made Joseph understand 
how much Oonsuelo^s affections were pre-occupied ; and 
the vague hopes which he had ventured to cherish, van- 
ished like dreams, the very memory of which he hastened 
to forget. After one or two hours’ silence which succeeded 
this animated conversation, he formed the firm resolution 
to see in Consuelo neither a beautiful siren nor a danger- 
ous companion, but a great artist and a noble-minded 
woman, whose advice and friendship would exercise the 
happiest influence on his life. 

As much to regain her confidence as to raise up a bar- 
rier against rash desires, he opened his heart to her, and 
told her how he also was in a manner engaged. The 
romance of his affection was less poetical than that of Con- 
suelo, but he who knows the issue of this romance in 
Hadyn’s after life, is aware that it was not less noble- 
minded or less pure. He had evinced a preference for 
the daughter of his generous host, Keller the barber, and 
tlie latter seeing this innocent attachment, said to him : 
^•Joseph, I confide in thee ; thou dost appear to love my 
daughter, and I see that she is not indifferent to thee. If 
thou art as honest and successful as thou art grateful and 
laborious, thou shalt be my son-in law.” In a moment of 
exaggerated gratitude, Joseph had sworn — promised ; and 
though his betrothed did not inspire him with the least 
passion, he considered himself bound to her forever. 

He related all this with a feeling of melancholy, suggested 
by the difference between his actual position and his 
intoxicating dreams with reference to Consuelo. Never- 
theless, the latter looked upon it as evincing the warmth 
of his attachment for Keller’s daughter. He did not 
venture to undeceive her, and consequently her esteem 
and confidence in Beppo’s good faith increased pro- 
portionately. 

Their progress therefore was not interrupted by any 
of those symptoms of love, which might have been antici- 
pated from a tete-a-t^te journey of two amiable, intelligent, 
and sympathetic young persons for fifteen days together, 
although Joseph felt not the sliglitest love for Keller’s 
daughter. He allowed the fidelity of his conscience to be 


CONSUELO. 


453 


taken for that of his heart, and though his bosom chafed, 
lie knew so well how to subdue his feelings, that his un- 
suspecting companion never had the least suspicion of the 
truth. When Haydn in his old age read the first book of 
Rousseau^s Confessions, he smiled through his tears as he 
recalled to mind his journey through the Boehmer Wald 
with Consuelo — trembling love and pious innocence their 
only guardians. 


CHAPTER LXX. 

Haydn" never had reason to regret his journey, nor the 
sufferings to which it had subjected him, for he made con- 
siderable progress in Italian, and acquired a more thorough 
knowledge of music than he ever had before. During 
their long halts in the shady recesses of the Boehmer Wald, 
the young artists revealed to each other all their genius 
and skill. Though Joseph Haydn sang well, and played 
agreeably on the violin and other instruments, he soon 
saw, when listening to Consuelo, that she was infinitely his 
superior, and that she could make him an excellent artist 
without Porpora's aid. But HaydiPs ambition was not 
confined to singing merely, and Consuelo, seeing him so 
backward as to the practical part, while in theory he was 
so lofty and correct, said to him one day, smiling; I am 
not sure that I am right to confine you to vocal music, for, 
if you once become attached to the profession of singer, 
you will perhaps sacrifice to it the still higher powers 
which you possess. Let me look at your composition. 
Notwithstanding my long and arduous study of counter- 
point with so severe a master as Porpora, what I have 
learned only suffices to enable me to understand the 
creations of genius, and I have no longer time, even had I 
sufficient ability, to produce original works; whereas, if 
you indeed possess creative power, you should follow this 
path, and only look upon singing and instrumentation as 
materials. 

Since Haydn had met Consuelo, he had, in fact, 
thought only of becoming a singer. To follow or live 
near her, to find her everywhere in his wandering life, 
had become his ardent dream during the last few days. 
He therefore hesitated to §hov7 her his first manuscript, 


454 


CONSUELO. 


although he had it with him, liaving written it out before 
going to Pilsen. He feared equally to appear deficient as 
to display talents that might induce him to combat his 
desire to be a singer. However he yielded at last, and half 
willingly and half reluctantly he allowed her to get pos- 
session of the mysterious manuscript. It was a little 
sonata for the harpsichord, which he intended for his 
pupils. Consuelo read it with her eyes, while Joseph 
marveled to see her comprehend it as easily as if she had 
heard him play it. She afterward made him try different 
passages on the violin, and sang those herself which were 
practicable for the voice. I know not if Consuelo divined 
from this trifle the future author of The Creation, and so 
many other remarkable works; but assuredly she foresaw 
in him an able master, and said, as she returned his manu- 
script: 

Courage, Beppo! thou art already a distinguished artist, 
and mayest be a distinguished composer, if thou wilt only 
study. Thou hast ideas, that is certain ; with these and 
science much may be done. Acquire science, therefore, 
and let us triumph over Porpora’s temper; for he is the 
master that you require. But think no longer of the stage; 
thy place is elsewhere, and thy baton of command is the 
pen. ' Thou must not obey, but rule. When you may 
become the animating soul, would you rank yourself 
among the machinery? Come then, thou maestro in the 
bud ! study shakes and cadences no more : only study 
where you are to place them in your compositions, and 
not how they are to be executed. This concerns your very 
humble servant and subordinate, who requests from.you 
the post of prima donna in the first mezzo-soprano part 
that you intend to write.” 

‘^Oh, Consuelo de mi AlmaV^ exclaimed Joseph, trans- 
ported with joy and hope; ''write for you?— be under- 
stood and expressed by you? — what glory! what ambition! 
But, no, it is madness— it is a dream! Teach me to sing. 
I would rather study to render according to your genius 
and feeling the ideas of others, than to sully your divine 
lips by placing in them accents unworthy of you.” 

" Come, come,” said Consuelo, " a truce to ceremony. 
Improvise a^ little, sometimes on the violin, sometimes 
with your voice. It is thus that inspiration flows from the 
lips and from the points of one's fingers. I shall see if 


CON8UEL0. 455 

you have within yon the divine impulse, or if you are 
merely an echo of the thoughts of others.” 

Haydn obeyed. She observed with pleasure that he was 
not learned, and that there was youth, freshness, and 
ability in his ideas. She encouraged him more and more, 
and henceforth would only teach him to sing in order as 
she said to point out to him in what manner the voice 
parts should be introduced. 

They amused themselves afterward with little Italian 
duets, which she taught him, and which he learned by 
heart. If we want money,” said she, before our 
journey is finished, we can very well sing a little by the 
way. Besides, the police may put us to the trial, in order 
to see that we are none of those wandering cut-purses (alas! 
too numerous) who dishonor the profession! Let us be 
prepared for every casuality. My voice, keeping in con- 
tralto passages, may very well pass for that of a boy before 
it is broken. You must also learn a few airs on the violin 
in order to accompany me. You will find that it is no 
bad study. These popular melodies are full of nerve and 
originality, and as to my old Spanish ballads, they are per- 
fect gems of originality and genius. Turn them to ac- 
count, my dear maestro; ideas beget ideas.” 

These were enchanting days for Haydn. It was then 
perhaps that he first conceived the idea of tliose infantile 
and delightful compositions which he afterward composed 
for the amusement of the young Princess Esterhazy. Con- 
suelo introduced into her lessons such gaiety, grace, and 
animation, that the good Joseph, recalled once more to 
the happy and innocent petulance of youth, forgot his 
privations and his disquietude, and only longed tliat this 
wandering education might never cease. 

We do not intend to describe accurately their route. As 
we are but slightly acquainted with the paths of the 
Boehmer AVald, we should only lead the reader astray were 
we to attempt to trace it from the confused record which 
has been transmitted to us. SufficO it to say, the first half 
of their journey was, upon the whole, more agreeable than 
otherwise, until an adventure befell them which we cannot 
pass over in silence. 

They had followed the northern bank of the Moldau from 
its source, both because it was less frequented and seemed 
more picturesque. They had been descending thei’efore 


456 


ComtJEtd. 


during ohd entire day the steep ravine which extended 
parallel with the Danube, but when they reached the 
heights of Schenau, and saw the mountain chain sinking 
to the level of the plain, they regretted that they had not 
followed the other bank of the river, and, consequently, 
the opposite chain, whose lofty peaks they saw in the dis- 
tance taking the direction of Bavaria. These woody 
mountains offered them more natural shelter and romantic 
halting-places than the valleys of Bohemia. During their 
pauses hy day in the forest, they amused themselves by 
snaring small birds, and when, their siesta being at an 
end, they found their snares filled with game, they cooked 
them in the open air, and found their repast sumptuous. 
They spared only the nightingales, as they 2}rofessed to 
consider them as professional brethren. 

The poor children therefore proceeded in search of a 
ford ; but the river was rapid, bordered by steep banks, 
and swollen by the rains. They came at length to a sort 
of pier, to which was moored a boat in charge of a child. 
They hesitated to approach it, as they saw several people 
before them bargaining for a passage. These men, after 
taking leave of each other, separated, three proceeding to 
the north, while two entered the boat. This determined 
Consuelo. “ We must meet strangers, said she, either 
on the right or left ; therefore it is just as well to cross at 
once.” 

Haydn hesitated a little, and was assuring her that these 
people looked ill, and were otherwise noisy and savage, 
when one of them, as if to contradict this unfavorable im- 
pression, stopped the boat and cried to Consuelo in Ger- 
man with an air of mingled gaiety and benevolence, 

Come, my child, get in, the boat is not very heavy, and 
we can easily take you with us if you choose.” 

^^Many thanks, sir,” replied Haydn; ^Mve shall take 
advantage of your kind permission.” 

Come, then,” said the one who had spoken, and whom 
his companion called Herr Mayer, jump in.^ 

Hardly had Joseph entered the boat when he remarked 
that the strangers gazed at Consuelo and himself with 
marked attention and curiosity. Herr Mayer’s face, how- 
ever, seemed animated only by gaiety and good nature. 
His voice was agreeable, his manners polished, and Con- 
Buelo felt assured by his gray hairs and paternal aspect, 


CONSHELO, 


457 


You are a musician, my lad ?’^ said he to the latter. 

At your service, worthy sir,” replied Joseph. 

^‘You also?” said Herr Mayer to Joseph, and then 
pointing to Oonsuelo, ^‘this is doubtless your brother,” 
added he. 

‘^No, sir, he is a friend,” replied Joseph ; we are not 
even from the same country, and he understands very 
little German.” 

‘‘To what country then does he belong?” continued. 
Herr Mayer, still looking at Consuelo. 

“To Italy; sir,” replied Haydn. 

“Venetian, Genoese, Eoman, Neapolitan, or Cala- 
brian?” said Herr Mayer, pronouncing each name in its 
peculiar dialect with admirable exactness. 

“ Oh, sir! I see that you can speak with all kinds of 
Italians,” said Oonsuelo, at length, not wishing to make 
herself remarkable by remaining longer silent ; “ I am 
from Venice.” 

“ Ah, that is a lovely country!” replied Herr Mayer, im- 
mediately using the dialect so familiar to Consuelo. “Is 
it long since you left it?” 

“ Only six months.” 

“And you travel about the country playing the violin?” 

“No; he plays,” said Consuelo, pointing to Joseph, 
“ and I sing.” 

“And you play on no instrument — neither hautboy, 
flute, nor tambourine?” 

“ No ; it would be useless.” 

“ But if you are a good musician you could easily learn ; 
is not that so?” 

“ Oh, certainly ; if it were necessary.” 

“ But you would not care about it?” 

“No; I would rather sing.” 

“And you are right; nevertheless, you will be forced 
to quit it or change your profession, at least for some 
time.” 

“Why so, sir?” 

“Because your voice will soon break, if it have not 
already done so. How old are you — fourteen or fifteen at 
most?” 

“ Something like that.” 

“ Well, then, before a year is past you will sing like a 
little frog, and it is not at all certain that you will once 


458 


CONSUELO, 


more become a Nightingale. It is a trying period from 
childhood to youth. Sometimes the voice is lost with 
the approach of manhood. In your place, I would learn 
to play on the fife; you could always gain a living.” 

I shall see to it, should it come to pass.” 

'^And you, my fine fellow,” said Herr Mayer, address- 
ing Joseph in German; ^‘^do you play only the violin?” 

Excuse me, sir,” replied Joseph, becoming confident 
in his turn on seeing that the good Mayer in no way 
embarrassed Consuelo; ‘‘1 play a little on different instru- 
ments.” 

Which, for instance?” 

The piano, the harp, the flute — in short, a little on 
every thing.” 

With such talents, you are wrong to wander about 
thus: it is a rude calling. And I perceive that your com- 
panion, who is still younger and more delicate than your- 
self, limps already.” 

Do you think so?” said Joseph, who in fact had only 
too plainly observed it, although Consuelo would not con- 
fess that her feet were swollen and painful. 

I saw that it was with difficulty he got into the boat,” 
replied Mayer. 

‘^What would you have, sir?” said Haydn, assuming a 
philosophical air; we cannot have every thing, and when 
we suffer — why, we must suffer.” 

^^But when you can live more happily and more respect- 
ably by remaining in one fixed place, is it not better? I 
do not like to see intelligent and gentle lads, as you 
appear, going about thus. Believe one who has children 
of his own, my young friends, and who probably will 
never see you again. It destroys both health and happi- 
ness to seek after adventures in this way; remember what 
I say.” 

"‘Thanks for your good advice,” replied Consuelo, with 
an affectionate smile, “ we shall perhaps avail ourselves of 
it.” 


“ God preserve you, my little gondolier,” said Mayer to* 
Consuelo, who had mechanically taken an oar and com- 
menced, according to her Venetian habits, to urge forward 
the boat. 

The bark touched the shore at last, not however without 
having been swept down the river a considerable distance 


CONSUELO, 


459 


by the strength of the current. Ilerr Mayer bade them a 
friendly adieu, while his silent comrade paid the hire of, 
the boat. After suitable thanks, Oonsuelo and Joseph 
struck into a path which led to the mountains, while their 
late companions kept along the level margin of the river. 

“ That Mayer seems an honest fellow,'^ said Consuelo, 
looking back once more ere he disappeared from their 
sight; I am sure he is a good father.’^ 

^Mle is both inquisitive and a babbler,” replied Joseph, 
and I am rejoiced you are freed from his cross-ques- 
tions.” 

“ Like all persons who have traveled much, he likes to 
converse. He is doubtless a cosmopolitan, as least if one 
may judge from his skill in languages. Of what country 
can he be?” 

He seems a native of Saxony, although he speaks the 
Austrian dialect uncommonly well. He is probably from 
- the north of Germany; a Prussian perhaps.” 

So much the worse; I do not like the Prussians, and 
King Frederick still less, after all I heard of him at the 
Castle of the Giants.” 

In that case you will be pleased at Vienna, for there 
this philosophic and warlike king has no partisans.” 

Thus conversing they advanced into the forest by paths 
which sometimes were lost amid the pine-trees, and some- 
times led along the scarp of the hills. Oonsuelo found 
these Carpathian mountains more agreeable than sublime; 
she had frequently crossed the Alps, and could not com- 
prehend Joseph’s transports, who had never seen such 
majestic peaks before. The latter’s impressions, there- 
fore, found vent in enthusiastic praises, while Consuelo 
was more disposed for reverie. Besides, Consuelo was 
dreadfully tired, and did her utmost to conceal her 
fatigue from Joseph, in order not to give him any fresh 
uneasiness. 

They rested for some hours, and after a slight repast, 
enlivened by music, they set out once more at sunset. 
But soon Consuelo, although she had often bathed her 
delicate feet in the crystal stream, like the heroines of 
romance, felt her feet bruised against the stones, and was 
obliged perforce to declare that her strength would not 
suffice for the night’s journey. Unhappily the country 
was quite deserted on that side; there was no monastery, 


460 


C0N8UEL0. 


not so much as a cabin or a chalet to be seen on tlie slopes 
of the Moldau. Joseph was in despair. The night was 
too cold to permit them to sleep in the open air. At 
length through an opening between two hills they per- 
ceived lights at the foot of an opposite declivity. The val- 
ley toward which they descended was Bavaria. But the 
town which they discerned was further off than they 
had at first imagined, and it appeared to the unhappy 
Joseph that it receded in proportion as they advanced. 
To crown their misfortunes, the weather changed, and a 
small cold rain began to fall. In a few moments the air 
became so thick that the lights disappeared, and our 
travelers having arrived, not without danger and difficul- 
ties, at the foot of the mountain, knew not how to direct 
their course. They were in a tolerably broad and level 
road, however, and they continued to drag along their 
weary limbs, still descending, when they heard the noise 
of an approaching carriage. Joseph did not hesitate to 
ask directions respecting the road, and the possibility of 
finding an asylum for the night. 

‘^Who goes there?” replied a loud voice; and, at the 
same time, they heard the click of a pistol. Be off, or 
I will blow your brains out.” 

‘MVe are not very dangerous opponents,” said Joseph, 
without being disconcerted. ‘^We are only two poor 
youths who ask our way.” 

‘‘Ha!” cried another voice, which Oonsuelo recognized 
as that of the good Herr Mayer, “ if these are not my 
little companions of the morning! I recognize the accent 
of the eldest. Are you there, too, my little gondolier?” 
he added in Venetian, addressing Oonsuelo. 

“I am,” she replied, in the same dialect. “We have 
lost our way, and we wish to know where we can find a 
stable or a palace where we might obtain shelter. Tell us 
if you know.” 

“ Oh, my poor children,” replied Herr Mayer, “ you are 
ten long miles, at least, from any habitation. You will 
not find even a dog-kennel all along these mountains. But 
I pity you; get into niy carriage, I can give you two 
places without inconvenience. Come, no ceremony — get 
in.” 

“ Oh! sir, you are a great deal too good,” said Oonsuelo, 
touched by the good man's kindness; “but you are going 
northward, and we toward Austria." 


ComiTJSLO, 


461 


‘‘No; lam going to the west. In an hour at most I 
shall set you down at Biberach. You can spend the night 
there, and to-morrow you may reach Austria. It will even 
shorten your journey. Come, decide; if you do not prefer 
the rain, and wish to keep us back.^' 

“Courage, then!"^ said Consuelo, in an under-tone to 
Joseph; and they got into the carriage. They observed 
that there were three passengers; two before, one of whom 
drove; the other, who was Herr Mayer, sat behind. Con- 
suelo took a corner ; Joseph the middle. The spacious 
vehicle had room for six persons. The horse, wlio was a 
powerful brute, lashed by a vigorous hand darted forward, 
jingling the bells on his collar, and tossing his head with 
impatience. 


CHAPTER LXXI. 

“Did I not tell you it was a dreary calling,’^ said Herr 
Mayer, resuming the conversation where he had left off in 
the morning. “When the sun shines all is w'ell; but the 
sun does not always shine, and your destiny is mutable as 
the atmosphere.” 

“What destiny is not variable and uncertain?” replied 
Consuelo; “ when the sky lowers,. Heaven throws benevo- 
lent hearts in our way. It should be tlie last thing in our 
thoughts, then, to accuse Providence just now.” 

“You are witty, my young friend,” said Mayer, “but 
you are from that beautiful land where all are so. Believe 
me, however, my ycmng friend, that neither your wit nor 
your fine voice would preserve you from starving in these 
dreary Austrian provinces. Were I in your place, I 
would seek fortune and preferment under some great 
prince.” 

“And under whom?” said Consuelo, surprised at this 
remark. 

“Faith I do not know; there are several.” 

“But is not the Queen of Hungary a great princess?” 
said Hadyn; “and is’not one protected in her States?” 

“ Doubtless,” replied Mayer, “ but her Majesty Maria 
Theresa detests music, and you would be expelled from 
Vienna were you to appear there as wandering troubadours 
as you are.” 


462 


C0N8UEL0. 


Just then Consuelo saw at a little distance, in some low 
lying land, the lights which she had already perceived, and 
she pointed them out to Joseph, who forthwith professed 
a desire to get down, in order to pursue the nearest route 
to Biberach. 

Those lights,’^ replied Herr Mayer, are no other than 
^ Will-o'-the-Wisp,^ and many a traveler have they en- 
gulphed in those dangerous morasses. Have you never 
seen them before?” 

‘'Yes, often on the lagunes of Venice, as well as on the 
lakes of Bohemia.” 

Herr Mayer discoursed for a long time to the young 
people on the necessity of establishing themselves, and on 
the few resources they would meet with in Vienna, with- 
out however mentioning where he would advise them to go 
in preference. At first Joseph was struck with his perse- 
verance, and feared he had discovered his companion’s sex; 
but the apparent sincerity with which Herr Mayer ad- 
dressed her as a youth, and even advised her to go into the 
army, restored his serenity, and he concluded that the 
good Mayer was one of these easy going souls who reflect 
all day long on whatever comes into their head first. Con- 
suelo for her part took him for a schoolmaster, or Protest- 
ant clergyman, full of reform, education, and conversions. 

After proceeding for about an hour they arrived at 
Biberach, but the night was so dark that they absolutely 
could not see. The carriage stopped before an inn, and 
Mayer was immediately addressed by two men, who took 
him aside. When they returned to the kitchen where Con- 
suelo and Joseph were drying and warming themselves by 
the Are, Joseph recognized the two individuals from whom 
they had separated on the left bank Of the Moldau. The 
first had but one eye; the second, although not deficient 
in this respect, was not a bit hand'somer on that account. 
The man who had crossed the river with Herr Mayer, and 
who had returned with him in the carriage, now advanced; 
the fourth did not make his appearance. 

They all chattered in a dialect wlpch Consuelo, although 
acquainted with so many languages, could not make out. 
Mayer appeared to exercise authority over the others, for 
after an animated discussion in a low voice, at the end of 
which he gave them some direction, they disappeared; with 
the exception of the one whom Consuelo, in speaking of 


CONSUMO. 463 

him to Joseph, called the Silent , and who never left Herr 
Mayer. 

Haydn was preparing to serve their frugal supper, on 
the corner of the table in the kitchen, when Herr Mayer 
returning, invited them to share his repast, and pressed 
them so kindly, that they did not venture to refuse. Never- 
theless, Consuelo partook with reserve of her host’s good 
cheer, while the eager attention of the servants to his 
numerous wants, and tlie quantity of wine which he drank, 
obliged her to abate a little the elevated opinion she had 
formed of his apostolic virtues. She was particularly 
shocked at the eagerness which he manifested to make 
Joseph and herself drink more than they wished, and the 
vulgar and boisterous gaiety with which he prevented 
them from mixing their wine with water. She began to 
grow still more uneasy, however, when Joseph, taking 
rather more than he should, whether from fatigue or in- 
attention, grew more communicative and animated than 
she could have wished. At last she grew displeased when 
he paid no attention to the warnings which she gave him 
with her elbow, and snatching away the glass, which 
Mayer was about to fill again : 

No, sir,” said she, we shall not imitate you, if you 
please; it is not fit that we should.” 

‘‘You are stange musicians!” said Mayer, laughing, 
with his frank and careless air. Musicians that do not 
drink ! You are the first of the kind that I have met 
with I” 

And you, sir ?” said Joseph. ‘"Are you not a musi- 
cian? I wager you are! Devil take me if I don’t think 
you -are chapel-master to some Saxon prince !” 

“Perhaps I am,” replied Mayer, smiling, “and hence 
the sympathy which I feel for you, my children.” 

“ If you be a chapel-master, sir,” replied Consuelo, 
“there'is too great a distance between your powers and 
ours — poor wandering singers that we are — to interest you 
much.” 

“There is many a wandering singer who has more 
talent than one might imagine,” said Mayer, “ and there 
are very great masters — even the chapel-masters of the 
first sovereigns in the world — who have begun in this 
manner. What if I were to tell you that 1 heard this 
morning on the mountain’s brow, on the left bank of the 


464 


C0N8UEL0. 


Molclau, tvvO charming voices, which performed a pretty 
Italian duet, accompanied with delightful and even scien- 
tific ritornellas on the violin? Well ! this is what hap- 
pened to me while I breakfasted this morning between 
nine and ten on a green slope with my friends. But when 
the musicians who thus delighted me descended the hill, 
what was my surprise to see two young people, one 
dressed as a peasant, the other plainer and simpler, and 
without much distinction in his appearance! Do not be 
ashamed or surprised then at the good-will which I have 
displayed toward you, but do me the favor to drink to the 
muses, our mutual and divine patronesses.^^ 

*^Sir! — maestro!” exclaimed the happy Joseph, quite 
■w'on over, *Met me pledge you. Oh ! you are a real musi- 
cian, I am certain, since you have been delighted with the 
talent of Signor Bertoni, my companion.” 

‘^No, you shall drink no more,” said Consuelo, impa- 
tiently snatching away his glass, ^^nor I either,” added 
she, turning her own down also. ^‘We have only our 
voices to trust to for our support, Herr Professor, and 
wine spoils the voice; you should encourage us to keep 
sober, instead of endeavoring to intoxicate us.” 

^'You speak reasonably,” said Mayer, replacing the 
decanter on the table. ‘‘ Yes, let us take care of the 
voice. It was well said. You have more prudence than 
your age would lead one to expect, friend Bertoni ; and I 
am delighted to have witnessed this proof of your self- 
denial. You will get on well, I see, not only from your 
prudence, but your talents. You will succeed triumph- 
antly, and I shall have the honor and the pleasure of con- 
tributing to your success.” 

Hereupon the pretended professor, throwing himself 
back into his chair in an easy position, and speaking with 
an air of the utmost sincerity and good nature, offered to 
bring them to Dresden, where he would procure them, 
lessons from the celebrated Hasse, and the protection of 
the Queen of Poland and the electoral Princess of Saxony. 

This Princess, Maria Antoinette of Austria, daughter of 
the Emperor Joseph I and married to Augustus III, King 
of Poland, had been a pupil of PorpoiVs. There was a. 
rivalry existing between his master and the Saxon (as 
Hasse was named), for the favors of the dilettante sover- 
eign, which was the original cause of their deep enmity. 


C0NSU1£L0. 


465 


Even had Consiielo been inclined to seek preferment in 
the north of Germany, she certainly would not have 
chosen to appear at this court, where she would have been 
opposed to the school and the coterie which had triumphed 
over her master. She liad heard enough from the latter 
in his moments of bitterness and resentment, to have little 
inclination in any case to follow the advice of Professor 
Mayer. 

As to Joseph, his position was very different. Intoxi- 
cated by the good cheer, he imagined he had discovered in 
Herr Mayer a powerful protector and the promoter of his 
future fortune. He did not indeed for a moment dream 
of abandoning Oonsuelo to follow this new friend, but, ex- 
cited as he was, he gave himself up to the hope of one day 
meeting him again. He trusted firmly in his benevolent 
intentions, and warmly thanked him. Then led away by 
his extravagant joy, he took his violin, and played 
completely at random. Herr Mayer, whether unwilling 
to annoy him by observing his false notes, or whether, 
as Oonsuelo thought, he was so indifferent a musician 
as not to observe them, only applauded him the more. 
Indeed his error with regard to her sex, though he 
had heard her sing, showed her clearly that he had not a 
very correct ear, since he had been as easily imposed upon 
as some village trumpeter or player on the trombone. 

Herr Mayer still continued to press them to accompany 
him to Dresden! Joseph, though he refused, indeed ap- 
peared highly flattered at the offers, and promised so 
warmly to go there as soon as possible, that Oonsuelo was 
forced to undeceive Herr Mayer respecting the possibility 
of such an arrangement. He cannot think of it at pres- 
ent,^^ said she in a very decided tone. “ You know, 
Joseph,^'’ she added, “ that cannot be, as you have other 
designs in view.'’’ Herr Mayer repeated his seductive offers, 
and was surprised to And her unassailable, as well as 
Joseph, whose reason returned the moment Signor Bertoni 
opened his lips. 

While this conversation was going on, the silent traveler, 
who had joined them but for a short time at supper, ap- 
peared at the door, and called Herr Mayer, who left the 
room with him; and Oonsuelo took advantage of his ab- 
sence to scold Joseph for his easy credulity in listening, 
under the influence of wine, to the fine words of any 
chance companion. 


4(50 


CONSUELO. 


What ! have I done any thing wrong, then said 
Joseph, frightened. 

‘‘ No,'^ replied she; ‘‘ but it is wrong to be so intimate 
with strangers. By dint of staring at me they will soon 
perceive, or at least suspect, that I am not what I appear; 
although I rubbed my hands with crayons to darken them, 
and endeavored to keep them as much as possible under 
the table, it would have been easy to see how weak they 
were, if happily these two gentlemen had not been so ab- 
sorbed, one by his bottle and the other by his talk. The 
most prudent thing we can now do, is to remove to some 
other inn, for I feel any thing but comfortable with these 
new acquaintances who seem to dog our steps.” 

‘MVhat!” said Joseph, would you have us be so un- 
grateful as to leave this wortiiy man, and perhaps illustri- 
ous professor, without thanking or bidding him adieu? 
Who knows that it is not the great Hasse himself?” 

I will answer for it, he is no such thing ; and if your 
wits had not been wool-gathering, you would have observed 
his miserable remarks on music. No master would thus 
express himself. He is at best some good-natured musician 
of the lowest ranks of the orchestra — a babbler, and a good 
deal of the sot to boot. It is plain from his countenance 
that he has never blown on anything but brass, and one 
would say from his look, that his eyes had never taken a 
higher flight than the footlights. 

“ Corno or Clarmo secondo!” exclaimed Joseph, bursting 
into a laugh. ‘‘ well, he is a pleasant fellow at any rate.” 

It is more than you can say for yourself at any rate,” 
replied Oonsuelo, a little out of temper. Sober yourself, 
and bid good-by if you choose, but let us go.” 

The rain is falling in torrents ; do you hear how it 
dashes against the panes?” 

I hope you are not going to fall ^asleep on the table,” 
said Consuelo, shaking him. 

At this moment Herr Mayer returned. 

^^Here is a complete change in our plans,” cried he, 
gaily. I expected to be able to sleep here, and set out in 
the morning for Chamb; but, behold I my friends will not 
permit me to proceed, alleging that my presence is neces- 
sary on some business of theirs at Passau. I must yield 
the point. By my faitli, my children, if I might offer you 
a piece of advice, it is since I cannot have the pleasure of 


CONSUBLO, 


467 


bringing you to Dresden, that you will take advantage of 
this opportunity. I have always two seats for you in my 
carriage, as these gentlemen have one of their own. To- 
morrow we shall be at Passau, about thirty miles from 
this, and then I shall bid you farewell ; you will then be 
near the Austrian frontier, and you can descend the 
Danube in boats as far as Vienna, w'ith little expense or 
difficulty.^^ 

Joseph thought it an admirable proposal, as it would rest 
poor Consuelo. It certainly seemed a favorable opportu- 
nity, and the navigation on tlie Danube was an expedient 
which had not occurred to them. Consuelo agreed, there- 
fore, seeing plainly besides that Joseph was incapable for 
that evening of taking any precautions for the security of 
their quarters. Once in the carriage, she had nothing to 
fear from the observations of her traveling companions, 
and Herr Mayer declared that they would arrive at Passau 
before daybreak. Joseph was delighted with her deter- 
mination; nevertheless Consuelo experienced an indefinable 
repugnance to the arrangement, and the appearance of 
Herr Mayer’s friends dissatisfied her more and more. She 
asked him if they also were musicians. 

All more or less,” he replied drily. 

They found the carriages ready, the drivers on their 
seats, and the servants of the inn well pleased with Herr 
Mayer’s liberality, bustling about to serve him till the last 
moment. During an interval of silence, in the midst of 
this confusion, Consuelo heard a groan which seemed to 
issue from the middle of the court. She turned toward 
Joseph, who heard nothing, and the groan being again re- 
peated, she felt a shudder run through her frame. How- 
ever, as no one appeared to observe it, she fancied it might 
be some dog pining on his chain. But whatever effort she 
made to distract her thoughts, the unpleasant impression 
remained. This stifled cry, proceeding, amid the dark- 
ness, wind, and rain, fr^orn among a group of animated and 
indifferent persons, without her being able to ascertain 
precisely whether it was an imaginary noise or a human 
voice, struck her with terror and sadness. Her thoughts 
instantly reverted to Albert, and, as if she could have 
shared in the mysterious power with which he seemed en- 
dowed, she trembled at the idea of some danger impending 
over Albert or to herself. 


468 


CONSUELO. 


In the meantime the carriage was already in motion. A 
fresh horse, still stronger than the first, drew it quickly 
along, while the other carriage, moving on with equal 
rapidity, was sometimes before and sometimes behind. Jos- 
eph chattered afresh with Herr Mayer, and Consuelo en- 
deavored to sleep, pretending indeed to be so already, in 
order to furnish a pretext for her silence. 

Fatigue at last overcame her sadness and disquietude, 
and she fell into a profound sleep. When she awoke she 
found that Joseph had fallen asleep also, and that Mayer 
was at last silent. The rain had ceased, the sky was clear, 
and the day commenced to dawn. The country was quite 
strange to Consuelo, except that she saw from time to 
time the summit of a chain of mountains that resembled 
the Boehmer Wald. 

As the heaviness of sleep wore off, Consuelo remarked 
with surprise the position of these mountains, which should 
have been on her left hand, whereas they were to the right. 
The stars had now disappeared, and the sun, which she 
expected to see rise in front of her, was not yet visible. 
She thought that the range which she saw must be another 
chain thanth'at of the Boehmer Wald, but Herr Mayer was 
snoring, and she dared not address the driver, who was the 
only one awake at the time. 

The horse now slackened his pace to mount a steep 
ascent, and the noise of the wheels died away in the moist 
sand of the road. It was then that Consuelo plainly per- 
ceived the same low groan that she had alrea^ heard in 
the inn at Biberach. The voice seemed to come from be- 
hind ; she turned around mechanically, and saw nothing 
but the leathern cushion against which she leaned. She im- 
agined herself the sport of some hallucination, and her 
thoughts always reverting to Albert, she was certain that 
he was dying, and that the sounds which she heard were 
his last sighs. This idea ^o seized upon her imagination 
that she was very nearly fainting, and, fearing to he suffo- 
cated, she asked the driver, who had stopped to breathe 
his horses, to allow her to walk up the rest of the hill. 
He nodded assent, and, getting down himself, walked 
whistling behind the horses. 

This man was too well-dressed to be the driver of a ve- 
hicle by profession, and as he moved Consuelo thought she 
saw pistols in his belt. This precaution in so wild and uu- 


comu^LO. 


m 

inliabited a country seemed perfectly natural, and besides, 
the form ol the carriage, which Consuelo examined as she 
walked beside the wheel, denoted that it carried merchan- 
dise. It was wide enough to afford space to a coffer be- 
hind, such as is generally employed to hold dispatches or 
valuables. But the conveyance did not seem heavily laden, 
since it was drawn without difficulty by one horse. 
But what surprised Consuelo much more was to see her 
shadow project before her, and, turning round, she saw 
that the sun had risen, and in a part of the horizon oppo- 
site to that in which it ought to have been if the vehicle 
had been proceeding in the direction of Passau. 

Where are we going now?^^ said she hastily, we are 
turning our backs on Austria.” 

Yes, for half an hour,” he quietly replied. We are 
retracing our steps because the bridge over which we had 
to cross is broken, and we are obliged to make a detour of 
a few miles to find another.” 

Consuelo, somewhat reassured, got into the carriage, and 
exchanged a few unimportant observations with Mayer, 
who was awake, but who soon slept again. Joseph had not 
moved all the time. They soon gained the summit, and 
Consuelo now saw before her a long, winding, and some- 
what steep road, and the river of which the driver had 
spoken at the bottom. But as far as the eye could reach 
she could see no bridge, and they were still going north- 
ward. Consuelo, surprised and disturbed, could sleep no 
more. 

A second hill soon presented itself, which the horse 
seemed too tired to ascend. The travelers all got down ex- 
cept Consuelo, who still suffered from her feet. Again 
the sobs struck her ear, but now so distinctly and so often 
repeated that she could no longer ascribe them to any trick 
of her imagination. The noise undoubtedly came from 
the back division of the carriage. She examined it atten- 
tively, and saw in the corner where Herr Mayer always sat, 
a little opening of leather, in the form of a wicket, which 
communicated with this recess. She tried to push it open 
but did not succeed. It had a lock, of which the key 
was probably in the pocket of the pretended professor. 

Consuelo, at once ardent and courageous in such adven- 
tures, drew from a pocket in her dress, a sharp and strong 
bladed knife, which she had procured on setting out, per- 


oomunLo. 


m 

haps with some vague idea of defending herself against the 
dangers of the road. Embracing an opportunity when her 
fellow- travelers, and even the driver, whose horse was now 
in no danger of running otf, were in advance, she opened a 
slit in the panel with a steady hand, so as to obtain a glance 
at the contents of. this mysterious case. But what was her sur- 
prise and terror when she saw in the narrow cell, which only 
received air and light from above, a man of athletic pro- 
portions, gagged, bound hand and foot, lying covered with 
blood, and evidently in a state of dreadful suffering and 
constraint! His face was livid, and he seemed at the point 
of death. 


CHAPTER LXXII. 

Horror-struck, Consuelo jumped down, and, joining 
Joseph, pressed his arm without being observed, as a sign 
to draw apart from their companions. When the rest had 
gone on a little, she exclaimed in a low voice, We are 
lost if we do not instantly fly. These people are robbers — 
murderers. The proof is at hand. Let us quicken our 
pace and make otf through the fields, for they have good 
reasons for deceiving us as they do.” 

Joseph thought that some hideous dream had disturbed 
his companion’s imagination. He scarcely understood 
what she said. For his own part, he felt oppressed by 
unusual languor, and the pains which he experienced in his 
stomach led him to believe that the wine he had drank 
must have been drugged. Assuredly he had not so far 
infringed on sobriety as to feel himself affected to such an 
extent. 

“Dear signora,” said he, “you have had the nightmare, 
and I almost imagine that I am suffering from it in listen- 
ing to you. Were these honest fellows banditti, as you 
fancy, what could they hope to gain from seizing us?” 

“I know not, but I feel terrified; and if you had seen a 
murdered man in yonder carriage, as I have done ” 

Joseph could not help laughing, for this assertion of 
Consuelo’s seemed like a dream. 

“ But don’t you see,” said she, earnestly, “ that they are 
leading us to the north, while Passau and the Danube 
tire to the south? Look where the sun is, and see what 


CONSUELO, 


471 


sort of a desert we are now in, in place of approaching a 
great city!” 

The correctness of these remarks struck Joseph, and 
began to dissipate the dreamy security into which he had 
fallen. 

“ \Vell,”*said he, "Met us go on, and if they attempt to 
detain us, we shall then see plainly their intentions.” 

"" And if we cannot escape all at once, let us be cool, 
Joseph, do you hear? We must have our wits about us, 
so as to be always ready to escape in an instant.” 

Then she began to lean on his arm, pretending to limp 
worse than ever, but gaining ground notwithstanding. 

But they had 'not advanced ten paces before they were 
called back by Herr Mayer, at first in mild terms, then in 
a sharper tone, an*d lastly, as they paid no attention, with 
oaths. Joseph looked back, and saw with terror a pistol 
leveled at their heads. 

They are going to kill us,” said he to Consuelo, -slack- 
ening his pace. 

""Are we beyond pistol range?” said she coolly, pulling 
him on, and beginning to run. 

"" I do not know,” said Joseph, trying to stop her. "" T)o 
not fly yet; the time is not yet come. They are going to 
fire. 

""Halt, or you die!” exclaimed the driver, running 
faster than they did, and keeping them within his fire. 

""Now for assurance,” said Consuelo, stopping. ""Do as 
I do, Joseph. By my faith!” she exclaimed, turning and 
laughing with all the self-possession of a finished actor, 
""if I were not so lame, you would not have had your joke 
for nothing.” 

And looking at Joseph, who was pale as death, she 
laughed loud and long, pointing him out to the travelers 
as they came up. 

""He believed it all!” said she, with a gaiety perfectly 
acted. ""Ah, my poor Beppo, I did not think you were 
such a coward ! Do, Mr. Professor, look at Beppo ; you 
would think he had a ball through him already!” 

Consuelo spoke in the Venetian dialect, and the man 
with the pistol, not knowing what she said, did not venture 
to take any step with regard to them. Herr Mayer pre- 
tended to laugh likewise, and turning to the driver: 

What do you mean,” said he, with a wink that did 


CONSVELO. 


An 

not escape Consuelo, such stupid jokes? Why did 
you terrify these poor children?” 

I wanted to see if they had courage,” replied the man, 
replacing his pistol in his belt. 

^^Ah!” said Oonsuelo, ‘‘they will have a poor opinion 
of you, friend Beppo! For my part, I was not a bit afraid: 
I appeal to yon, Mr. PistoV^ 

“You are a brave fellow,” replied Herr Mayer, “and 
would make a famous drummer at the head of a regiment, 
with grape shot whistling round you.” 

“As for that I do not know,” said she; “I dare say I 
should have shown the white feather if I had thought he 
really meant to kill us. But we Venetians are too wide 
awake, and are not to be taken in so.” 

“No matter,” replied Herr Mayer; ‘“it was a sorry 
joke.” 

And addressing the driver, he appeared to scold him a 
little; ‘but Oonsuelo was not their dupe, and she saw by the 
tone of their dialogue that they entered into an explan- 
ation, the result of which was that they thought they had 
been mistaken respecting her intention to fly. 

Oonsuelo in the meantime had re-entered the carriage 
with the others. “ Oonfess,” said she to Herr Mayer, 
laughing, “that your driver with his pistols is a very 
strange fellow! I shall call him henceforth Sig^ior Pistola. 
You must allow, however, Mr. Professor, that yonder joke 
had nothing new in it!” 

“It is a piece of German humor,” said Herr Mayer; 
“you have better wit than that at Venice, have you not?” 

“ Oh ! do you know what Italians would have done in 
your place, if they had wished to play us a good trick ? 
They would have driven the carriage into the first thicket 
on the roadside, and would have all hidden themselves. 
Then when we turned round, not seeing any thing and 
thinking that the devil had carried every body away, 
should we not have been well caught? I especially, who 
can hardly drag myself along, and Joseph also, who is as 
cowardly as any doe of the Boehmer Wald, and who would 
have believed himself abandoned in this desert.” 

Herr Mayer laughed at her childish drollery, which he 
translated as she proceeded to the Signor Pistola, who was 
not less amused than he at the simplicity of tlie gondolier. 

^‘Oh! you are quite too sharp-sighted,” replied Mayer; 


(JOmVELO, 


m 


person will try to lay a trap for you again!” And 
Consuelo, who at last saw the deep irony of his false good 
nature show itself through his jovial and fatherly air, con- 
tinued on her side to play the part of a fool who considers 
himself witty — a well-known character in every melodrama. 

Their adventure was certainly becoming very serious, 
and even while playing her part with skill, Consuelo felt 
tliat she was a prey to fever. Happily, fever only stimu- 
lates to action, while stupor, on the contrary, deadens and 
destroys every faculty. 

Thencefortli she appeared as gay as she had been hith- 
erto reserved, and Joseph, who had recovered all his facul- 
ties, seconded her well. Even while appearing not to 
doubt that they were approaching Passau, they pretended 
to lend a favorable ear to the proposition to go to Dresden, 
which Herr Mayer did not fail to recur to. By this 
means they gained his complete confidence, and he only 
waited for some favorable opportunity to confess frankly 
that he was carrying them there without their permission. 
The expedient was soon found. Herr Mayer was by no 
means a novice in such matters. There commenced a 
lively dialogue in the strange language between the three 
individuals, Herr Mayer, Signor Pistola, and The silent 
man. Then all at once they talked German, and appeared 
to continue the same subject: 

I tell you it is so!” cried Herr Mayer, we have taken 
the wrong road, a proof of which is that their carriage 
does not come up. It is more than two hours since we left 
it behind, and though I looked back from the summit of 
the hill, I could see nothing.” 

cannot see it anywhere, said the driver, putting his 
head out of the carriage and drawing it in again with a dis- 
appointed air. 

Consuelo herself had remarked, after passing the first 
hill, the disappearance of the carriage in company with 
which they had left Biberach. 

I was sure we had lost our way,” observed Joseph, 
^^but I did not wish to say so.” 

And why the devil did you not say so ?” returned the 
silent man, affecting great displeasure at this discovery. 

‘^Because it was so amusing!” ^aid Joseph, inspired by 
Consuelo's innocent deceit; ^Mt is so amusing to lose one’s 
way in a carriage! I thought that happened only to foot 
travelers.” 


m 


C0N8UEL0. 


‘‘Well! it amuses me too/^ said Cotisnelo. “I wish 
now we were’ou the road to Dresden!’^ 

“If I knew where we were/^ returned Herr Mayer^ “I 
would rejoice with you, my children; for I must confess to 
you that I did not like going to Passau for the good pleas- 
ure of those gentlemen, my friends, and I should be de- 
lighted if we had gone far enough astray to excuse our 
complying with their wishes/' 

“ Faith, Mr. Professor," said Joseph, “arrange that as 
you like, it is your business. If we do not inconvenience 
you, and you still wish us to go to Dresden, we are ready 
to follow you to the end of the world. What say you, 
Bertoni?" 

“I say as you do," replied Cousuelo. “We will take 
our chance!" 

“ You are good children!" replied Mayer, concealing 
his joy under an air of pretended vexation; “ still I should 
like greatly to know where we are." 

“No matter where we are, we must stop," said the 
driver; “ the horse is done up. He has eaten nothing 
since yesterday evening, and he has traveled all night. 
None of us would be at all the worse for some refreshment. 
Here is a little grove. We have some provisions left; and 
I say, halt!" 

They entered the wood; the horse was unharnessed, Jos- 
eph and Consuelo earnestly offering their services, which 
were accepted without distrust. The chaise was let down 
upon its shafts; and in this movement the position of the 
invisible prisoner doubtless becoming more painful, Con- 
suelo again heard him groan; Mayer heard it also, and 
looked steadily at Consuelo, to see if she remarked it. 
But notwithstanding the pity that rent her bosom, she 
succeeded in appearing deaf and impassible. Mayer went 
round the carriage, and Consuelo, who had withdrawn a 
little, saw him open on the outside a little door behind, 
cast a glance into the interior of the back division, again 
close it, and replace the key in his pocket. 

“Is the merchandise damaged?" cried the silent man to 
Herr Mayer. 

“All is well," replied he, with brutal indifference, and 
commenced to make preparations for their breakfast. 

“Now," said Consuelo rapidly to Joseph as she passed, 
“ do as I do, and follow all my movements." She assisted 


C0N8UEL0. 


ilb 

in spreading the provisions on the grass, and in uncorking 
the bottles. Joseph imitated her example, affecting great 
gaiety, and Herr Mayer saw with pleasure these voluntary 
servants devote themselves to his comfort. He loved his 
ease, and began to eat and drink as well as his companions, 
displaying manners even more gluttonous and gross than 
he had shown the night before. Every minute he reached 
out his glass to his two new pages, who immediately rose, 
reseated themselves, and were off again, running now on 
this side, now on that, watching for the moment of run- 
ning once for all, but waiting until the wine and the diges- 
tion should render those dangerous guardians less clear- 
sighted. At last Herr Mayer stretched himself at full 
length upon the grass, and unbuttoning his vest exposed to 
the sun his broad chest, ornamented with pistols. The 
driver went to see if the horse was properly fed, and the 
silent man undertook to search for some place in the ‘miry 
stream, beside which they had stopped, where the animal 
could drink. This was the moment for flight. Consuelo 
pretended to search likewise. Joseph entered the thicket 
with her, and as soon as they were hidden by the closeness 
of the foliage, they took to their heels through the wood 
like two hares. They had nothing to fear from bullets in 
that thick undergrowth, and when they heard themselves 
called, they concluded that they had got far enough in ad- 
vance to pursue their course without danger. 

It is better to reply, however, said Consuelo, stopping, 
that will avert suspicion and give us time for a fresh 
race.'’^ Joseph therefore called out: 

This way! there is water this way!’^ 

A spring! a spring!^^ cried Consuelo, and turning in- 
stantly to the right to confuse the enemy, they flew onward. 
Consuelo thought no longer about her swollen and painful 
feet; and as for Joseph, he had quite recovered from the 
effects of the narcotic which Herr Mayer had administered 
to him the night before. Fear gave them wings. 

They ran on this way for about ten minutes, in an oppo- 
site direction from that which they had taken at first, 
without pausing to listen to the voices which called them 
from different sides, when they found the margin of the 
wood, and before them a steep and turfy slope which de- 
scended to the beaten road, bordered with thickets and 
clumps of trees. 


m 


COmUBLO. 


^^Let us not leave the wood,” said Joseph. ^^They will 
come this way; and from this elevation they can see us in 
whatever direction we go.” 

Consuelo paused a moment, explored the country with a 
rapid eye, and said: 

‘‘ The wood behind ns is too small to conceal us for any 
length of time; before us there is the road and the chance 
of meeting some one.” 

^^Ah!” exclaimed Joseph, ‘Mt is the very same road 
that we were traveling just now; see, it turns to the right 
toward the spot we left. If one of our pursuers get upon 
horseback, he will overtake us before we reach the level 
ground.” 

That is what we must see,” said Consuelo; we shall 
run quickly down the hill. I see something below there 
on the road, which comes this way. We must reach it 
before we are overtaken. Come, follow me!” 

There was no time to lose in deliberation. Joseph 
trusted implicitly in Consuelo; the hill was passed in an 
instant, and they had gained the first clump of trees, 
when they heard the voices of the enemy in the wood. 
This time they took care not to reply, and ran till they 
came to a sunk brook which the trees had hidden from 
their observation. A long plank served as a bridge, and, 
after crossing, they threw it into the water. When they 
had gained the other side they continued to descend, 
always under cover of the dense foliage, and, hearing them- 
selves no longer -called, they concluded that their enemies 
had lost their track, or else were feigning in order to take 
them by surprise. Here the underwood disappeared, and 
they paused, fearing to be observed. Joseph thrust his 
head out cautiously and saw one of the brigands, probably 
the swift-footed Signor Pistola, at the foot of the hill, not 
far from the river. While Joseph kept watch, Consuelo 
had been surveying the road and all at once returned to 
him. 

^‘It is a carriage which is coming toward us,” said she; 

we are saved! We must get up to it before our pursuers 
think of crossing the river.” 

They ran straight in the direction of the road, in spite 
of the exposed nature of the ground; the carriage in the 
meantime approached rapidlyf 

^^Oh, Heavens!” cried Joseph, ^^if it were the other 
conveyance, that of the accomplices.” 


OONSUELO, 


477 


No,” said Consuelo, is a barouche with six horses, 
two postilions, and two outriders. Courage ! we are 
saved, I tell you.” 

It was indeed time for them to reach the road ; Pistola 
had found the print of their feet on the sand of the brook. 
He had the strength and rapidity of a wild boar. He 
soon found out where they had crossed, and the props that 
had sustained the plank. He perceived the trick, swam 
across the river, found their footsteps on the other side, 
and, following them, came likewise to the outlet. He 
saw the fugitives traverse the thicket, but he also saw 
the carriage, understood their design, and, unable to 
prevent it, he re-entered the thicket and kept on the 
wart;ch. 

At the cries of the young people, who they supposed 
were mendicants, the barouche did not at first stop. The 
travelers threw them some pieces of money, and the 
couriers seeing that in place of picking them up, they ran 
alongside of the carriage, still exclaiming, quickened their 
pace to a gallop, in order to free their masters from their 
importunity. Consuelo, out of breath, and losing her 
strength, as often happens, just at the moment of success, 
continued her pursuit, clasping her hands, with a suppli- 
cating gesture, while Joseph, clinging to the steps at the 
risk of losing his hold and being crushed under the wheels, 
cried out with a panting voice. 

^‘HelpI help! robbers! assassins! w’e are pursued!” 

One of the travelers by degrees understood their broken 
accents, and signed to the couriers to stop their horses. 
Consuelo then, dropping the bridle to which she had 
clung, although the horse had reined upright and the man 
had threatened her with the whip, joined Joseph. Her 
animated countenance struck the travelers, who entered 
into conversation with them. 

What does all this mean?” said one of them; ^Ms this 
some new way of asking alms? You have got alms; what 
do you want more? CanT you speak?” 

Consuelo felt as if she should expire, and J oseph, breath- 
less, could only gasp out. 

Save us! save us!” 

And they pointed to the wood and the hill without being 
able to utter a word. 

They look like two foxes hard pressed in the chase/^ 


478 


C0N8UEL0. 


said the other traveler ; ^Met us wait till they recover 
breath/^ and the two gentlemen, who were magnificently 
attired, smiled with a coolness which contrasted strongly 
with the agitation of the poor fugitives. 

At length Joseph succeeded in uttering the words. 
Robbers! assassins!^’ The nobleman forthwith opened 
the door, and stepping out, looked around on all sides, 
astonished to see nothing that could justify such an appeal; 
for the scoundrels had concealed themselves, and the coun- 
try appeared silent and deserted. At length Consuelo, 
recovering lierself, spoke as follows, stopping at each word 
to regain breath: 

We are two poor wandering musicians; we have been 
carried off by some men whom we do not know, and 
who, under a pretext of doing us a service, made us 
enter their carriage and travel all night. At daybreak we 
found out that they were deceiving us, and carrying us 
northward instead of following the road to Vienna. We 
endeavored to fly, but they threatened us, pistol in hand. 
At last they stopped in that wood, and we escaped and ran 
toward your carriage. If you abandon us here, we are 
lost; they are only a few paces from the road — one in the 
thicket, and the others in the wood.^^ 

How many are there then?’^ asked one of the couriers. 

My good fellow, said one of the travelers, in French 
— he to whom Consuelo had addressed herself because he 
was nearest to her on the foot-board — ‘‘learn that this 
does not concern you. How many are there, indeed! a 
fine question, truly! Your duty is to fight if I command 
you, and I shall give you no orders to count the enemy.” 

“ Do you really wish to amuse yourself with a little 
sword practice?” returned the other nobleman in French; 
remember, baron, that will take time.” 

“ It will not take long, and the exercise will warm us. 
Will you be of the party, count?” 

“ Certainly, if it amuses you.” And the count, with 
majestic indifference, took his sword in one hand, and in 
the other two pistols, the handles of which were orna- 
mented with precious stones. 

“Oh! you do well, gentlemen,” cried Consuelo, whose 
impetuosity made her forget for an instant her humble 
part, and pressing the count’s arm with 'both her hands. 
The count, surprised at so much familiarity on the part 


CONSUELO. 


479 


of a little vagabond of that class, looked down at bis sleeve 
with an air of comic disgust, shook it, and raised his eyes 
with contemptuous deliberation toward Cousuelo, who could 
not help smiling, when remembering with what ardor Count 
Zustiniani and so many other illustrious Venetians had 
requested in former times the favor of kissing one of those 
hands whose insolence now appeared so shocking. Whether 
there was in her countenance at that instant a ray of calm 
and gentle dignity which contradicted the poverty of her 
appearance, or the ease with which she spoke the language 
then fashionable in Germany led him to suspect she was 
some young nobleman in disguise, or whether, lastly, the 
charm of her sex made itself felt instinctively, the count 
suddenly changed his expression, and instead of his former 
smile of disdain, he looked at her with a kind and benevo- 
lent air. The count was still young and handsome, and 
his appearance would have dazzled the spectator, if the 
baron had not surpassed him in youth, in regularity of 
features, and in nobleness of form. They were the two 
handsomest men of their age, to use the common phrase, 
applied to them as well as probably to many others. 

Consuelo, seeing the expressive looks of the young baron 
also fixed upon her with an appearance of uncertainty, 
surprise, and interest, turned their attention from her per- 
son by saying: 

Go! gentlemen, or rather come! for we will act as your 
guides. Those bandits have in their carriage an unfortu- 
nate man hidden in a concealed partition, and shut up as 
in a dungeon, lie is confined there, with his hands and 
feet tied, all covered with blood, and closely gagged. 
Hasten to deliver him; such a task belongs to noble hearts 
like yoursT^ 

By Jove, a fine boy !^^ cried the baron, and I see, my 
dear count, that we have not lost our time in listening to 
him. Perhaps it is some brave gentleman whom we shall 
rescue from the hands of the bandits.’^ 

You say they are there?'^ said the count, pointing to 
the wood. 

^‘Yes, but they are now scattered, said Joseph; ^^and 
if your excellencies would listen to my humble advice, you 
will divide your attack. You will advance along the high- 
way in your carriage as quickly as possible, and having 
skirted the hill, you will find just at the’ entrance 


480 


CONSUELO. 


of the wood, on the opposite side, the carriage with 
the prisoner, while I conduct those on horseback 
directly across. There are only three of them, although 
well armed, but the rascals, seeing themselves between two 
fires, will offer no resistance.” 

‘^It is good advice,” said the baron. ^^Do you, count, 
remain in the carriage and let your servant accompany 
you. I will mount his horse. One of these young people 
will serve you as guide and show you where to stop; I will 
take the other along with my chasseur. Let us be quick; 
for if the banditti, as it is probable, have taken the alarm, 
they will be beforehand with us.” 

The carriage cannot escape,” observed Consuelo; ^Tor 
their horse is tired out.” 

The baron mounted one of the servant's horses, while 
the servant got up behind the carriage. 

Jump in!” said the count to Consuelo, making her 
enter first, without being himself aware of the deference he 
paid her. 

Nevertheless he took the back seat, she the front; then 
leaning over the door, as the postilions galloped forward, 
his eye followed his companion, who rode across the brook 
followed by his escort, behind whom was seated Joseph. 
Consuelo was not without some anxiety for her poor com- 
rade, thus exposed to the first fire ; yet she felt esteem and 
approbation for his conduct on seeing him bravely face the 
danger. She saw him ascend the hill, followed by the 
horsemen, who spurred their horses vigorously and disap- 
peared in the wood. Two shots were heard, then a third. 
The barouche turned the hill, and Consuelo, unable to 
distinguish any thing further, prayed fervently, while the 
count, anxious for his noble companion, shouted to the 
postilion with an oath : 

‘‘Galop, you scoundrel! spare neither whip nor spur!” 


CHAPTER LXXIII. 

Signor Pistola, to whom we can give no other name 
than that bestowed on him by Consuelo, for we are not 
sufficiently interested in him to institute any inquiries as 
to his real one, had seen from his place of concealment the 
carriage stop at the cries of the fugitives. The Silent One, 


CONSUELO, 


481 


to use the cognomen given him also by Consuelo, had made a 
similar observation from the hill. He forthwith ran to 
rejoin Mayer, and both consulted on the means of saving 
themselves. Before the baron had crossed the stream, 
Pistola had gained the road and concealed himself in the 
wood. He allowed them to cross, and then fired both his 
pistols, one ball of which pierced the baron’s hat, while 
the other slightly wounded his attendant’s horse. The 
baron turned sharply round, saw him, and riding up 
stretched him on the earth with a pistol bullet. He then 
left him kicking and swearing among the brambles, and 
followed Joseph, who reached the carriage of Herr Mayer 
almost at the same moment as the count. The latter had 
already sprung out. Mayer and the Silent One had dis- 
appeared with the horse, without taking time to conceal 
the carriage. The first care of the victors was to force the 
lock of the recess where the prisoner was confined. Con- 
suelo joyfully assisted to cut the bonds of this unfortunate 
man, who no sooner found himself at liberty than he 
threw himself prostrate on the ground before his libera- 
tors; thanking God ; but the moment he beheld the baron, 
it seemed as if he had fallen from Charybdis into Scylla. 

^^Ah! your excellency, Baron Trenck,” he exclaimed, 
‘^do not destroy me — do not give me up. Mercy for a 
poor deserter, the father of a family! I am no more a 
Prussian than you are, sir ; I am like yourself an Austrian 
subject, and I beg of you not to have me arrested. Oh! 
show mercy!” 

^^Oh! pardon him, your highness!” exclaimed Consuelo, 
without knowing to whom she spoke, nor what it was 
about. 

I pardon you,” replied the baron, ^^but on one con- 
dition — that you engage by the most solemn oaths never to 
tell who gave you life and liberty.” 

Thus saying, the baron tied a handkerchief over his own 
face, leaving only one eye exposed. 

Are you wounded?” asked the count. 

^^No,” he replied, pulling his hat over his brows ; ^^but 
if we meet these pretended robbers I do not wish to be 
recognized. I do not stand very well already in my sover- 
eign’s graces, and there only needs such an affair as this 
to finish me!” 

understand,” replied the count; but do not fear, 
I will take all the responsibility upon myself.” 


482 


C0N8UEL0. 


That may save this deserter from stripes and the gal- 
lows, but will not ward off disgrace from me. But what- 
ever comes of it, one should serve one’s fellow-creatures 
; ' ■ ’ ^ " ee, my poor fellow, can you stand. 



Are vou wounded?” 


I have received some hard blows, but I do not feel 
them now.” 

Have you strength sufficient to fly?” 

Oh! yes, Mr. Aide-de-camp.” 

Do not call me by that name, you scoundrel! Be 
off ; and count, let us do the same ; I long to get out of 
these woods. I have given one of these fellows his quietus ; 
if the king knew it I should be a gone niaii. But, after 
all, I care not a jot for his anger,” he a*dded, shrugging 
his shoulders. 

Alas!” said Consuelo, while Joseph gave the sufferer a 
drink, if we leave him here he will soon be seized again. 
His feet are swollen, and he can hardly lift his hands. 
See how pale he is!” 

Do not let us forsake him,” said the count, whose 
eyes were fixed on Consuelo. Franz, get down,” said he 
to his servant, and then turning to the deserter he added, 

mount this horse, I give him to you ; and this also,” 
tossing him his purse. Will you be able to reach 
Austria?” 

Oh, yes! my lord.” 

Do you wish to go to Vienna?” 

Yes, my lord.” 

Are you willing to serve again?” 

Yes, my lord, except in the Prussian army.” 

Go then and seek her majesty, the Empress Queen. 
She grants audiences to all who wish it, once a week. 
Tell her that Count Hoditz presents her with a hand- 
some grenadier drilled in the Prussian fashion.” 
hasten, my lord.” 

'‘And never mention the baron’s name, or I will get 
you seized and sent to Prussia.” 

"I would rather die at once. Oh! if the rascals had 
only left me the use of my hands, I would have killed 
myself rather than be taken.” 

"Be off!” 

" Yes, my lord.” 

He took another drink of the contents of the gourd, re- 


C0N8UEL0. 


483 


turned the vessel to Joseph, thanked him without being 
aware of the far more important service he owed him, and, 
prostrating himself before the count and the impatient 
baron, he crossed himself, kissed the ground, and mounted 
with the help of the servants, for he was totally unable to 
set his feet to the ground; but scarcely was he in the sad- 
dle than, regaining vigor and courage, he put spurs to his 
horse and darted off toward the south like the wind. 

If they ever find out what I have done,^^ said the 
baron, my destruction is certain. No matter, added he, 
bursting into a fit of laughter; ^^it is a rare idea to present 
Maria Theresa with one of Frederick's grenadiers. This 
fellow, whose balls have whistled by the soldiers of the 
empress, will now return the compliment to those of the 
King of Prussia. Most faithful subjects and well-selected 
troops!” 

The sovereigns are none the worse served for that. 
And now what are we going to do with these young creat- 
ures?” 

‘‘We may say, like the grenadier,” replied Consuelo, 
“ that if you forsake us we are lost.” 

“ Methinks,” replied the count, who affected a chival- 
rous style in all his sayings and doings, “you have had 
little reason hitherto to doubt our humanity. We will 
bring you where you will be free from all danger. My 
servant will mount the box” — then addressing the baron, 
he added in a low voice, “ Would you not prefer these 
young people inside to a valet, before whom we would be 
obliged to practice more reserve!” 

“ Without any doubt,” replied the baron; “ artists, how- 
ever poor, are fit society for any one. Who knows if in 
yonder lad we have not picked up a Tartini in embryo? 
Look with what rapture he seizes on his fiddle again. 
Come, troubadour,” said he to Joseph, who had just suc- 
ceeded in regaining possession of his bag, his violin, and 
his music — “ come with us, you shall sing this glorious 
combat in which we could find nobody to kill.” 

“ You may jest at my expense as much as you please,” 
replied the count, reclining at the back of the carriage (the 
young people being seated in front), as they rapidly rolled 
along toward Austria — “ you have brought down one 
gallows bird at any rate.” 

“ Perhaps he is not killed outright, and may, some day 


484 


C0N8UEL0. 


or other, meet me at King Frederick’s door. I will give 
you the honor of the exploit, therefore, with all my heart.” 

As for me who never even saw the enemy,” replied the 
count, ‘^1 quite envy you; I was in, however, for the ad- 
venture, and could have been glad to punish these fellow- 
as they deserve. To seize deserters and carry off recruits 
on the very borders of Bavaria, the faithful ally of Maria 
Theresa! — it is insolence beyond all bounds!” 

It would be an excellent pretext for going to war if 
they were not both tired fighting, and if peace at this 
moment were not much more convenient. I shall there- 
fore feel thankful. Sir Count, if you will be silent on the 
subject of this adventure, as well on account of my sover- 
eign as on the score of my mission to your empress. I 
should find her but ill disposed to receive me after such an 
impertinent demonstration on the part of my govern- 
ment.” 

Fear nothing,” replied the count. ^^You know that 
I am not a zealous subject, because I am not an ambitious 
courtier.” 

‘"And what scope for ambition could you have, dear 
count, crowned as you are at once by love and fortune ? 
Whereas I — ah !.how unlike are our respective destinies, 
analogous as they may at first sight seem !” Thus saying 
the baron drew from his bosom a portrait set in diamonds, 
and began to gaze at it with moistened eyes and deep-drawn 
sighs. Consuelo felt very much inclined to laugh ; she 
thought so open a display of attachment was not in the best 
taste, and inwardly ridiculed the person who could be guilty 
of it. 

“Dear baron,” replied the count, lowering his voice, 
while Consuelo did her utmost not to hear him, “ I entreat 
you to make no one your confidant but myself, nor ever to 
display this portrait again. Put it back in its case, and 
reflect that this child knows French as well as you or I do.” 

“ By the way,’ said the baron, putting back his portrait, 
which Consuelo took care not to glance at, “ what the 
devil were they going to do with these little fellows? What 
did they say to induce you to follow them?” 

“ I never thought of that,” said the count, “ nor can I 
even now understand what they, who seek only to enlist 
giants, wished to do with a couple of children.” 

Joseph related that Mayer represented himself as a mu- 


CONSUELO. 


485 


sician, and talked continually about Dresden and an 
engagement in the electoral chapel. 

‘‘Now I have it!"' replied the baron; '‘and this Mayer, 

I wager I know him. It must be one N , formerly a 

drum-major, and now recruiting for the Prussian regi- 
mental bands. Our people have no ear or taste, and his 
majesty, who even excels his father in the justness of his 
musical perceptions, is obliged to procure his trumpeters 
and fifers from Bohemia and Hungary. The professor of 
Kubadub thought to secure in those little musicians a fine 
present for his master, in addition to the deserter; and it 
was not a bad idea to promise Dresden and the court to 
these intelligent young performers. But you would never 
have seen Dresden, my children, and, with your leave or 
without your leave, a regiment of infantry would have been 
your destination for the rest of your days.” 

" Now I know what to think of the fate which awaited 
us,” replied Oonsuelo. " I have heard of the abominations 
of this dull, heavy regime, and of their bad faith and cru- 
elty toward recruits. I see from the way they treated the 
poor grenadier what was in store for us. Oh, the Great 
Frederick!” 

" Know, my young friend,” said the baron, somewhat 
ironically, " that his majesty is ignorant of the means; he 
is only aware of the results.” 

" Of which he unconcernedly takes advantage,” replied 
Oonsuelo, with irrepressible indignation. " 0, my lord 
baron I kings are never wrong, and are ignorant of all the 
evil which is practiced to gratify them.” 

" The rogue is witty !” exclaimed the count, smiling. 
" But be prudent, my pretty drummer, and do not forget 
that you speak before the commander of the regiment in 
which you were perhaps about to enter.” 

"Knowing how to be silent myself. Signor Count, I 
never doubt the discretion of others.” 

"You hear, baron; he promises the silence which was 
not even asked of him! Come! he is a fine fellow !” 

"I confide in him with all my heart. Count, you must 
enroll him, and offer him as page to her highness.” 

" I agree,” said the count, smiling, "if he consent to 
the arrangement. Will you accept this arrangement, my 
child? you will find it much more agreeable than the 
Prussian service. You . will neither have to blow a 


486 


CONSUELO. 


trumpet nor to call the reveille before break of day, nor 
eat powdered brick in place of bread, but simply to bear 
the train and carry the fan of a gracious lady, live in a 
fairy palace, preside at sports, and take your part in con- 
certs, quite as good as those of the Great Frederick. Are 
you tempted? You do not take me for another Mayer ?” 

And who is this highness, so gracious and magnifi- 
cent ?” asked Consuelo, smiling. 

It is the Dowager Margravine of Bareith, Princess of 
Culmbach, and my illustrious spouse," replied Count 
Hoditz, who is now residing at her ancestral castle of 
Eoswald, in Moravia." 

Consuelo had often heard the canoness relate the history 
and alliances of all the aristocracy, great and small, of Ger- 
many, and among others that of Count Hoditz-Roswald, a 
rich Moravian nobleman, banished by his fatlier (justly 
irritated at his conduct), an adventurer in all the courts of. 
Europe, and latterly grand equerry and lover of the 
Dowager Margravine of Bareith, whom he had secretly 
married, carried olf, and conducted to Vienna, and thence 
to Moravia, where, having received his paternal inherit- 
ance, he had placed her at the head of a brilliant establish- 
ment. The canoness had often recurred to this history, 
at which she was excessively shocked, because the Margra- 
vine was a reigning princess and the count a simple 
nobleman, and she therefore made it her continual text for 
inveighing against all mesalliances and love matches. 
Consuelo, on her part, was well pleased to make herself 
acquainted with aristocratic prejudices, and did not forget 
these revelations. The first time the name of Count Hoditz 
was mentioned before her, she had been struck by a sort 
of vague recollection, but now she remembered clearly all 
the particulars of the life and romantic marriage of this 
celebrated adventurer. As to Baron Trenck, who was 
then at the outset of his remarkable career, and who little 
foresaw his frightful downfall, she had never heard of 
him. The count now proceeded to dilate with some degree 
of vanity on his recent opulence. Kidiculed and looked 
down upon by the little courts of Germany, Hoditz had 
long blushed to be regarded as a poor wretch enriched by 
his wife; but having succeeded to vast possessions, he 
maintained from thenceforth regal state in his Moravian 
domain, and displayed his titles and his consequence 


CONSUELO. 


487 


before the eyes of petty princes inucli poorer than In m self. 
Delicately attentive to the Margravine, he thought himself 
no otherwise bound to a woman so much older than him- 
self; and whether she shut her eyes through complaisance 
or good taste, or believed that her husband could never be 
sensible of the decline of her beauty, she never ventured 
to thwart his fancies. 

After proceeding a few leagues, the noble travelers found 
a fresh relay of horses ready harnessed for them. Josepli 
and Oonsuelo would have here taken leave of their friends, 
but they kindly dissuaded them, alleging the possibility of 
new enterprises on the part of the recruiters, who were 
spread everywhere over the country. 

""You do not know, said Trenck, "" how skillful and 
how much to be feared this race of men are. In whatever 
part of Europe you may happen to set foot, if yon are 
poor and in difficulties and are possessed of any talent, you 
are exposed to their machinations or violence. They 
know all the passages of the frontiers, all the mountain 
paths, every place of ill-fame, and all the rascals 
from whom they may expect assistance or support in 
case of need. They speak all languages, all dialects, for 
they have traveled in every country, and have practiced 
every profession and trade. They can manage a horse to 
perfection; run, jump, swim, dive, cross valleys and preci- 
pices, like regular banditti. They are almost all brave, 
inured to fatigue, liars, dexterous, supple, subtle, cruel. 
It is from the refuse of the human race that the adminis- 
tration of his late Majesty, the great William, has 
selected the able purveyors of his forces and the props of 
his military discipline. They would lay hold of a deserter 
were he in the depths of Siberia, and would seek him in 
the midst of the enemy ^s balls, for the sole pleasure of 
bringing him back to Prussia, and hanging him for an 
example to others. . They have before now torn a .priest 
from the altar, because he was six feet high; they stole 
a physician from the electoral princess; they have ten 
times reduced the old Margrave of Bareith to a state of 
despair, by running off with his army of twenty men with- 
out* his daring to seek redress openly; they made a soldier 
of a French gentleman, who went to see his wife and chil- 
dren in the neighborhood of Strasbourg; they have taken 
Russians from the Czarina Elizabeth, Hulons from Mar- 


488 


CJONSTIELO. 


shal Saxe, Pandours from Maria Theresa, Hungarian mag- 
nates, Polish noblemen, Italian singers, women of all 
nations — Sabines married by force to their soldiers. 
Nothing comes amiss to them; and besides all the cost and 
charges of their journeys, they have so much a head 
— what do I say? — so much an inch, so much a line 

Yes,^^ said Consuelo, they furnish human flesh by the 
pound! Ah, your great king is nothing but an ogre! But 
do not be uneasy. Signor Baron; you have done a good deed 
in restoring liberty to the poor deserter. I would rather 
undergo all the punishments that were designed for him, 
than utter a word to your prejudice.'’^ 

Trenck, whose flery character had little regard for pru- 
dence, and whose mind was already embittered by the sin- 
gular severity and incomprehensible injustice of Frederick 
toward him, experienced a savage satisfaction in revealing 
to Count Hoditz the misdeeds of a system, of which he had 
been the witness and the accomplice in prosperous times, 
when his reflections had not always been so equitable and 
so severe. Now secretly persecuted, though apparently 
confided in so far as to be intrusted with an important 
diplomatic mission to the court of Maria Theresa, he began 
to hate his master, and to display his sentiments much too 
openly. He related to the count the slavery, the sufferings, 
and the despair of this numerous Prussian army, precious 
in war, but dangerous in peace, and whose power was ma- 
tured by unexampled severity. He then mentioned the 
suicidal epidemic which had spread in the army, and the 
crimes which soldiers, otherwise honest and devout, had 
committed in order to be condemned to death, and thus 
escape from the dreadful life they led. 

“You may suppose,^^ said he, “that the ranks under 
inspecMo7i are those which are most sought after? You 
must know that these are composed of foreign recruits, men 
carried off by force, and young Prussians utterly disgusted 
and wearied with a military career in which they are 
doomed to end their days. They are divided into ranks, 
in which they are forced to march, whether in peace or 
war, before a line of men more submissive and determined, 
to whom orders are given to fire on those before them, if 
the latter display the least appearance of flying or resist- 
ing. If the ranks charged with this duty neglect it, those 
placed still further back — who are among the most insensi- 


CONSUELO. 


489 


ble and ferocious of the hardened and rascally veterans of 
the army — are bound to fire on the two first, and so on, if 
the third flinch in their duty. Thus every rank in battle 
has the enemy before his face and the enemy behind his 
back; friends, brethren, fellow-creatures — nowhere! Noth- 
ing save violence, death, and terror! Thus does the Great 
Frederick form his invincible soldiers! Well ! a 
place among these first ranks is envied and sought after 
by the Prussian soldier, and as soon as he obtains it, he 
throws down his arms, without the least hope of safety, 
in order to draw on him the balls of his comrades. 
This despair saves many, who, venturing all on the die, 
and braving unheard-of dangers, succeed in escaping to 
the enemy. The king is not unaware of the horror which 
his iron yoke inspires, and you probably know his remark 
to his nephew the Duke of Brunswick, who was present at 
one of his grand reviews, and could not help admiring the 
fine appearance and superb maneuvers of the troops. 

‘ An assemblage of so many handsome fellows surprises 
you ?' said Frederick. ‘ Well, there is one thing that 
surprises me still moreT 

‘‘ ‘ What is that?’ said the young duke. 

‘ It is, how it happens that you and I are safe in the 
midst of them,’ replied the king.” 

Dear baron,” exclaimed Count Hoditz, that is the 
reverse of the medal. Nothing can be accomplished with 
men except by natural means. How could Frederick 
become the first captain of his time if he were as mild as 
a dove? Hold! Say no more. You will force me, his 
natural enemy, to take his part against you, his aide-de-camp 
and favorite.” 

‘‘From the capricious manner in which he treats his 
favorites, one may judge how he acts with his slaves. Let 
us speak no more of him — you are right, because when I 
think of it I am seized with a diabolical desire to return 
to the woods and strangle, with my own hands, his zealous 
purveyors of human flesh, whom I have through a stupid 
and cowardly prudence allowed to escape.” 

The generous enthusiasm of the baron pleased Consuelo; 
she listened with interest to his animated pictures of 
military life in Prussia, and not being aware that per- 
sonal malice mingled somewhat with his courageous indig- 
nation, she only saw in it the evidence of a noble character. 


490 


C0N8UEL0. 


There was, nevertheless, real greatness in the soul of 
Trenck. This proud and handsome young man was not 
born to creep. There was a great difference in this respect 
between liim and his impromptu traveling friend, Count 
Hoditz. The latter, having been during infancy the terror 
and despair of his preceptors, had been left to himself; and 
although he had passed the age of sowing his wild oats, 
there was something boyish in his manners and demeanor 
which contrasted strangely with his Herculean stature and 
handsome features, somewhat worn indeed by forty years 
of dissipation and excess. The superficial information 
which he sometimes displayed was picked up in romances, 
popular philosophy, and the theater. He pretended to be 
an artist, though he was as deficient in discernment and 
depth in that as in every thing else. Nevertheless his 
grand air, and his exquisite condescension, soon impressed 
the young Hadyn, who preferred him to the baron, per- 
haps on account of the preference which Consuelo displayed 
for the latter. 

The baron on the contrary was well-informed; and if the 
atmosphere of courts and the effervescence of youth had 
sometimes led him astray, he had nevertheless preserved 
those independent sentiments and just and noble princi- 
ples which are developed by a good education, followed by 
serious study. His lofty character may indeed have 
been impaired by the caresses and fiatteries of power; 
but his ardent and impetuous temperament had never 
stooped so low but that on the least injustice it bounded 
up fiery and brilliant as ever. Frederick’s handsome 
page had tasted of the poisoned cup ; but love, how- 
ever rash, had animated and exalted his courage and his 
perseverance. Pierced to the heart, he had not the less 
raised his head, and braved to his face the tyrant who 
would have humbled him. 

At the period of our story he appeared to be about five- 
and-twenty years of age. His dark brown hair, which he 
would not sacrifice to the childish discipline of Frederick, 
clustered in thick curls around his lofty brow. His figure 
was superb, his eyes sparkling, his mustachios black as jet, 
his hand white as alabaster, although of Herculean 
strength, and his voice fresh and masculine, as were his 
countenance, his ideas, and the hopes of his love. Con- 
suelo reflected upon this mysterious attachment which he 


CONSVELO. 


491 


had every moment on his lips, and which she no longer 
thought absurd, when she observed by degrees, in his out- 
bursts and in his reserve, the mixture of natural impetu- 
osity and well-founded distrust which made him continually 
at war with his destiny and with himself. She experienced 
in spite of herself a lively desire to know the queen of this 
fine young man's affections, and offered deep and romantic 
vows for the happiness of the lovers. She did not find the 
journey in the least tedious, though she expected it would 
prove so face to face with two strangers of a rank so differ- 
ent from her own. She had contracted at Venice the 
idea, and at Eiesenburg the habits, of refined life — those 
polite and quiet manners, and those choice expressions, 
which constituted the better part of what was then called 
good society. Keeping herself in the background, and 
not speaking unless when spoken to, she felt herself much 
at her ease, as she reflected on all she heard. Neither the 
count nor baron appeared to have seen through her dis- 
guise, and, as for the latter, he paid no attention either to 
her or Joseph. If he occasionally addressed them, it was 
while speaking to the count; and being carried away by 
the subject, he at last was conscious of nothing but his 
own thoughts. 

As to the count, he was by turns grave as a monarch and 
gay as a French marchioness. He drew his tablets from 
his pocket, and took notes with the serious air of a philos- 
opher or a diplomatist; then he read them over in a hum- 
ming voice, and Oonsuelo saw that they were .little verses, 
written in a gallant and pleasing French. Sometimes he 
recited them to the baron, who declared them admirable . 
without having listened to them. Sometimes he consulted 
Oonsuelo with a good-natured air, and asked her with false 
modesty, “What do you think of that, my little friend? 
You understand French, do you not?" 

Oonsuelo, impatient of this pretended condescension, 
which appeared to seek to dazzle her, could not resist the 
temptation of mentioning two or three faults which she 
found in a quatrain “ To Beauty T Her mother had 
taught her to pronounce and enunciate well those lan- 
guages which she herself sang easily and with a certain 
elegance, and Oonsuelo, studious, and seeking in all things 
harmony, measure, and the neatness which her musical 
organization rendered easy to her, had found in books the 


492 


CON SUE LO. 


key and rules of these various languages. She had exam- 
ined prosody especially with care, exercising herself in 
translating lyric poetry, and in adjusting foreign words to 
national airs, in order to become mistress of the rhythm 
and accent. She had also succeeded in comprehending 
the rules of versification in several languages, and it was 
not difficult for her to detect the errors of the Moravian 
poet. 

Astonished at her learning, but not able to resolve upon 
doubting his own, Hoditz consulted the baron, who confi- 
dently gave judgment in favor of the little musician. 
From this moment the count occupied himself exclusively 
with her, but without appearing to suspect her real age 
or sex. He only asked where he had been educated, that 
he knew the laws of Parnassus so well. 

^^At the charity school of the singing academy at 
Venice,” replied she, laconically. 

It would appear that the studies of that country are 
more severe than those of Germany. And your comrade, 
where did he study?” 

At the cathedral of Vienna,” replied Joseph. 

^^My children,” resumed the count, ‘‘you have both 
much intelligence and quickness. At our first resting-place 
I wish to examine you upon music, and if your proficiency 
corresponds with the promise given by your faces and 
manners, I will engage you for the orchestra of my theater 
at Roswald. I wish, at any rate, to present you to the 
princess my spouse. What do you say? Ha! it would be 
a fortune for children like you.” 

Consuelo had been seized with a strong desire to laugh 
on hearing the count propose to examine Haydn and her- 
self in music, and she could only make a respectful incli- 
nation, while she used all her efforts to preserve a serious 
countenance. Joseph, feeling more forcibly the advan- 
tageous consequences of a new protection for himself, 
thanked him, and did not refuse. The count resumed his 
tablets, and read to Consuelo half of a little Italian opera, 
singularly detestable and full of barbarisms, which he in- 
tended to set to music himself, and to have represented on 
his wife’s f^te-day, by the actors of the theater belonging to 
his chdteau, or rather \\h residence; for, considering him- 
self a prince in th^ right of his margravine, he uevqr used 
any other phrase* 


C0N8UEL0. 


493 


Consuelo pushed Josephus elbow from time to time, to 
make him remark the count^s blunders, and, overcome by 
ennui, thought to herself that to be seduced by such 
madrigals, the famous beauty of the hereditary margravi- 
ate of Bareith, with the appanage of Culmbach, must be 
a very stupid person, notwithstanding her titles, her 
beauty, and her years. 

While reading and declaiming, the count kept crunching 
little comfits to moisten his throat, and incessantly offered 
them to the young travelers, who, having eaten nothing 
since the day before and dying of hunger, accepted, for 
want of a better, this aliment, fitted rather to deceive than 
to satisfy their appetite, saying to themselves that the 
count^s sugar-plums and his’ rhymes were very insipid 
nourishment. 

Toward evening the spires and clock-towers of the city 
of Passau, which Consuelo in the morning thought she 
would never reach, were visible. This prospect, after so 
many dangers and disquietudes, was almost as delightful 
to her as that of Venice had formerly been, and when she 
had crossed the Danube, she could not help grasping 
Josephus hand with pleasure. 

^‘Is he your brother?^^ said the count. 

Yes, mylord,'*^ replied Consuelo, answering at random 
in order to rid herself of his curiosity. 

Yet you are not in the least like each other,^’ said the 
count. 

Oh, there are many children who do not resemble their 
father,” said Joseph, gaily. 

But you were not brought up together?” 

No, my lord. In our unsettled profession we are edu- 
cated how and where we can.” 

Yet I cannot help thinking,” said the count to Con- 
suelo, lowering his voice, ^'that you are of gentle birth; 
every thing in your manner bespeaks a natural elevation.” 

I do not know how I was born,” she answered, 
laughing ; I must be descended from a long line of 
musicians, since I love nothing on earth but music.” 

Why are you in the dress of a Moravian peasant?” 

Because, my clothes being worn out, I purchased this 
suit in one of the fairs.” 

'"You have been in Moravia, then? at Roswald, per- 
haps?” 


494 


comuMLo. 


“1 have seen it at a distance,” replied Consuelo, slily, 
'^but without daring to approach your proud domain, youi 
statues, your cascades, your gardens, your mountains, your 
fairy palace!” 

You saw it all then?” exclaimed the count, astonished, 
forgetting that Consuelo had heard him describe the 
beauties of his residence in detail for the last two hours; 
^^oh, you would be delighted to see it again, I assure you!” 

I am dying to see it once more, since I have had the 
pleasure of knowing you,” said Consuelo, who felt an 
irresistible desire to revenge herself for the infliction of 
his opera. 

She bounded lightly from the bark in which they had 
crossed the river, exclaiming in a German accent: 
salute thee, 0 Passau!” 

The barouche conducted them to the dwelling of a rich 
nobleman, a friend of the counPs, then absent, but whose 
house was placed at his disposal. The household was ex- 
pecting them, and supper being ready, it was immedi- 
ately served up. The count, who was delighted at the 
conversation of his little musician, for so he called Con- 
suelo, would have wished to invite them to the table, but 
the fear of annoying the baron by this breach of etiquette 
prevented him. Consuelo and Joseph were well satisfied 
to sup in the servants^ hall, and made no objection to sit 
down along with the valets. Haydn, indeed, had never 
held a higher place in the fetes of the nobility to which he 
had been invited; and although a sense of the dignity of 
his art gave him sufficient elevation of character to under- 
stand the outrage inflicted on him, he recollected, without 
any feeling of shame, that his mother had been cook to 
Count Harrach, the lord of his village. In fact, at a later 
period, when arrived at the very zenith of his genius, 
Haydn was no better appreciated by his patrons as a man, 
although his fame as an artist was spread all over Europe. 
He lived for five-and-twenty years in the service of Prince 
Esterhazy; and when we say service, we do not mean 
merely as a musician, for Paer saw him, a napkin on his 
arm, and a sword by his side, standing behind his master^s 
chair and performing the duties of major-domo, or prin- 
cipal domestic. 

Consuelo had not eaten a meal in company with domes- 
tics since her travels in childhood with her mother the 


CONSUELO. 


495 


Zingara. She was greatly amused, therefore, with the 
borrowed airs and graces of these aristocratic lackeys, 
who felt aggrieved at the company of two wandering 
musicians, and who did not hesitate to thrust them to the 
foot of the table, and help them to the worse morsels — 
which, however, thanks to their youth and good appetite, 
they did not the less enjoy. Their contented air having 
disarmed their haughty entertainers, the latter proceeded 
to ask for a little music by way of desert. Joseph re- 
venged himself by playing the violin very willingly; and 
Consuelo, now completely recovered from her agitation of 
the morning, was about to sing, when intelligence was 
brought that the count and baron desired a little music for 
themselves. 

It was impossible to refuse, after the generous aid they 
had received from the two noblemen. Consuelo would have 
considered any want of complaisance, or any excuse 
either of fatigue or hoarseness, as the basest ingratitude, 
since, in fact, her voice had already reached the gentle- 
men's ears. 

She followed Joseph, who was already prepared to take 
every thing which happened in good part, and when they 
had entered the saloon, where, lighted by a score of wax 
tapers, the two noblemen were engaged in finishing their 
last bottle of Tokay, they stood near the door, and began 
to sing the little Italian duets which they had rehearsed 
on the mountains. 

‘^Attention!" said Consuelo, slily, to Joseph. Con- 
sider that his excellency the count is about to examine us 
as to our proficiency in music. Let us acquit ourselves 
to his satisfaction." 

The count was much flattered by this observation. As 
for the baron, he had placed the portrait of his mysterious 
Dulchinea on the reverse of his plate, and was gazing at 
it, without heeding what was going on. 

Consuelo took care not to display the full powers of her 
voice. Her pretended sex hardly agreed with her liquid 
and flute-like accents, and her apparent age did not 
warrant the expectation of any decided talent. She 
assumed the hoarse and somewhat worn voice of a young 
lad who has prematurely injured his tone by singing in the 
open air. It was an amusement for her to counterfeit in 
this manner the awkward attempts and rude flourishes 


496 


fJONSUELO. 


which she had so often heard the street singers of Venice 
practice, but though the parody was excellent, still she 
could not hide her superior taste, and the duet was sung 
with such force and originality, tliat the baron, himself an 
excellent musician and artist, replaced his portrait in 
his bosom, raised his head, and ended by applauding 
vociferously, exclaiming that it was the sweetest music he 
had ever heard. As for Count Hoditz, who was full of 
Fuchs and Rameau, and other classic authors, he had less 
relish for this kind of performance. In liis eyes the baron 
was a sort of barbarian, and the two young people intelli- 
gent indeed, but requiring his efforts to raise them from 
the depths of their ignorance. His ruling idea was to 
form his own artists, and he said in a sententious manner, 
shaking his head the while: 

‘^It is not so bad, but there is a great deal to mend. 
Come, come, we will correct all that.^’ 

He looked upon Joseph and Consuelo, in imagination, 
as his already, and as forming part of his choir. He then 
asked Haydn to play the violin; and as the latter had no 
reason to conceal his abilities, he executed a piece of his 
own composition to admiration. This time the count was 
highly satisfied. 

^^Your position is fixed, said he. ^^You shall be first 
violin; but you must also practice on the viola and the 
viole amour, I will teach you the manner of execution.^^ 
Is his highness the baron also satisfied with my com- 
rade?’^ said Consuelo to Trenck, who had relapsed into his 
reverie. 

‘‘ So much so,^'’ replied he, that if I make any stay at 
Vienna, I will have no otlier master.” 

I will teach you the viole amour , replied the count, 
^^and I expect that you will give me the preference.” 

^^I prefer the violin, and this professor.” replied the 
baron, with perfect frankness. 

He took the violin, and played from memory, with great 
purity of tone and expression, several passages from the 
piece which Joseph had just performed. 

I wish to show you,” said he, with great modesty, 
^^that I am only fit to be your pupil, but that, with atten- 
tion and docility, I might learn.” 

Consuelo requested him to continue, and he complied 
without affectation. He had talent, taste, and skill, 
Hoditz praised his performance beyond measure. 


C0N8UEL0. 


497 


“ It is but a poor thing/' replied Trenck, ‘^for it is my 
own. I like it, however, inasmuch as it pleased the 
princess/' 

The count made a hideous grimace, to warn him of his 
imprudence. Trenck paid no attention, but, lost in 
thought, ran the bow over the strings absently ; then, 
•throwing the instrument on the table, he rose, and strode 
up and down the apartment, pressing his hand on his fore- 
head. At last he returned toward the table, and said: 

Good-evening, my dear count. I am obliged to set 
out ere daybreak; the carriage which I have ordered is to 
call for me at three. Most probably I shall not see you 
again till we meet in Vienna. I shall be happy to see you 
there, to thank you for the pleasure I have received in 
your company, which I never can forget." 

They pressed each other's hands repeatedly, and as the 
baron left the apartment, he slipped some pieces of gold 
into Joseph's hand, saying: 

This is on occount of my future lessons in Vienna. 
You will find me at the Prussian embassy." 

He nodded to Consuelo as he passed, while he whispered 
in her ear: 

Should I ever find you as drummer or trumpeter in 
my regiment, we will desert together. Dost understand?" 

Then saluting the count once more, he left the apart- 
ment. 


CHAPTER LXXIV. 

As soon as Count Hoditz was alone with his musicians, 
he felt more at ease, and became quite communicative. 
His mania was to set up for a chapel-master, and to play 
the impresario. He resolved, therefore, to commence 
Consuelo's education at once. 

Come here," said he, ^^and sit beside me. We are 
alone ; and need not sit so far apart. And do you also be 
seated," exclaimed he, turning to Joseph, ‘^and profit by 
my instructions. You have no notion of a shake," con- 
tinued he, turning to the great cantatrice; ^Misten, while 
I show you." 

Here he ventured on a commonplace passage, in which 
he introduced that ornament several times after a very 


498 


CONSUELO, 


vulgar fashion. Consuelo amused herself by repeating the 
passage with the shake reversed. 

That is not it/" roared the count with a voice of a 
stentor, as he struck the table. Why did you not listen 
to me?"" 

He began again, and Consuelo cut it short this time still 
worse than before, preserving her gravity, however, and 
pretending to be all attention and docility. As for Joseph, 
he was on the point of suffocating, and pretended to 
cough in order to avoid a convulsion of laughter. 

^‘La, la, la, trala, trala, tra, la,"" sang the count, 
imitating his awkward pupil, bounding on his chair with 
all the symptoms of extreme irritation, which he was far 
from feeling, but which he tliought it right to assume, as 
being in keeping with his position. 

Consuelo teased him this way for a good quarter of an 
hour, and wound up by singing the passage with faultless 
precision. 

' ‘‘Bravo! bravissimo!"" exclaimed the count, falling back 
in his chair. “It is perfect at last! I knew I should 
make something of you! Give me but a peasant, and I 
should do more with him in a day than others in a year! 
Now, sing this once more, and see that you execute the 
notes trippingly. Better still! why, nothing could surpass 
that! We shall make something of you at last!"" 

Here the count wiped his forehead, though there was 
not a single drop of perspiration on it. 

“ Now,"" continued he, “let us have a falling cadence, 
and from the chest."" 

Here he set her an example, with that hackneyed facility 
with which the most inferior choristers ape the efforts of 
superior performers, fancying themselves equally skillful, 
because they succeed in imitating them. Again Consuelo 
amused herself with putting the count into one of his 
cool-blooded passions, when all at once she changed her 
manner, and finished with a cadence so perfect and so 
prolonged, that he was obliged to cry out: 

“ Enough ! enough ! now you have it ! I was sure I 
should set you right. Let us go now to the roulade. You 
learn with wonderful facility, and I wish I had always 
pupils like you."" 

Consuelo, who began to feel overpowered by sleep and 
fatigue, abridged the lesson of the roulade considerably. 


CONSUELO. 


499 


She executed with docility all that the opulent pedagogue 
prescribed to her, however faulty in taste it might be; and 
even allowed her exquisite voice to assume its natural tone, 
no longer fearing to betray herself, since the count was 
resolved to attribute to himself all the sudden splendor and 
celestial purity which it every moment displayed in a 
greater degree. 

How much clearer his voice becomes in proportion as I 
show him how to open his mouth and bring out his tone!’^ 
said he, turning to Joseph with an air of triumph. Clear- 
ness in teaching, perseverance, and example, are the three 
requisites with which to form, iii a brief period, finished 
singers and declaimers. We shall take another lesson to- 
morrow ; for you must have ten lessons, at the end of 
which you will know how to sing. We have the couU, the 
flatte, the port de voix tenu, and the de voix acheve, 
the chute, the inflexion tendre, the martellement gai, the 
cadence feinte, etc., etc. Now go and repose yourselves; 
I have had apartments prepared for you in the palace. I 
shall stop here on some business until noon. You will 
breakfast here, and follow me to Vienna. Consider your- 
selves from this moment as in my service. To begin, do 
you, Joseph, go and tell my valet to come and light me to 
my apartment. Ho you,” said he to Consuelo, remain 
and go over the last roulade again which I showed you; I 
am not perfectly satisfied with it.” 

Hardly had Joseph left the room, when the count, 
taking both Consuelo^s hands in his, endeavored to draw 
her to him. Interrupted in her roulade, Consuelo looked 
at him with much astonishment; but she quickly drew 
away her hands and recoiled to the other end of the table, 
on seeing his inflamed eyes and his libertine smile. 

Come, come! do you wish to play the prude?” said the 
count, resuming his easy and superb air. So, so! my 
sweet one, we have a little lover, eh? he is very ugly, poor 
fellow, and I hope that you will renounce him from this 
day forward. Your fortune is made if you do not hesi- 
tate, for I do not like delays. You are a charming girl, 
full of sweetness and intelligence ; you please me greatly, 
and from the first glance I cast upon you I saw that you 
were not made to tramp about with that little vagabond. 
Nevertheless, I will take charge of him also ; I will send 
him to Rosw'ald and establish him there. As for you, you 


500 


CONSVELO. 


shall remain at Vienna. I will lodge you properly, and if 
you are prudent and modest, even bring you forward in 
the world. When you have learned music, you shall be 
the prima donna of my theater, and you shall see your 
little chance friend when I carry you to my residence. Is 
it agreed?’^ 

‘‘ Yes, my lord count, replied Oonsuelo with much 
gravity, and making a low bow, it is perfectly agreed.” 

Joseph returned at that moment with the valet-de- 
chambre, who carried two candles, and the count retired, 
giving a little tap on the cheek to Joseph and addressing 
a smile of intelligence to Consuelo. 

‘‘ He is perfectly ridiculous,” said Joseph to his com- 
panion as he was left alone with her. 

More so than you think,” replied she, thoughtfully. 

“ No matter, he is the best man in the world, and will 
be very useful to me at Vienna.” 

Yes, at Vienna, as much as you please, Beppo; but at 
Passau not in the least, I assure you. Where are our 
bundles, Joseph?” 

^'In the kitchen. 1 will go and carry them to our 
apartments, which, from what they tell me, must be 
charming. You will get some rest at last.” 

‘‘My good Joseph!” said Consuelo, shrugging her 
shoulders, “go, get your bundle quickly, and give up your 
pretty chamber in which you expected to sleep well. We 
leave this house on the instant — do you understand me? 
Be quick, for they will certainly lock the doors.” 

Haydn thought she must be dreaming. What I” 
cried he, “ is it possible? Are these great lords kidnap- 
pers too?” 

“ I fear Hoditz even more than Mayer,” replied Oon- 
suelo, impatiently. “Come, run! do not hesitate, or I 
shall leave you and go alone.” 

There was so much resolution and energy in Consuelo^s 
tone and features, that Haydn, surprised and distracted, 
obeyed her hurriedly. He returned in a few minutes with 
the bag which contained their music and clothes ; and 
three minutes afterward they had left the place, without 
having been remarked by any one, and reached the suburb 
at the extremity of the city. 

They entered a small inn and hired two apartments, 
which they paid for in advance, in order to be able to leave 
as early as they wished without being detained. 


C0N8VEL0. 


501 


Will you not at least tell me the occasion of this fresh 
alarm T’ asked Haydn, as he bade Consuelo good-night on 
the threshold of her chamber. 

Sleep in peace,” replied she, ‘^and know in two words 
that we have not much to fear now. His lordship the 
count divined with his eagle eye that I am not of his sex, 
and did me the honor to make me a declaration which has 
singularly flattered my self-love. Good-night, friend 
Beppo ; we must be off before daylight ; I will knock at 
your door to rouse you.” 

Ou the next day the rising sun saluted our young trav- 
elers as they were floating on the bosom of the Danube, 
and descending its rapid stream with a satisfaction as pure 
and hearts as light as the waves of that lovely river. They 
had i)aid for their passage in the bark of an old boatman 
who was carrying merchandise to Lintz. He was an honest 
man, with whom they were well satisfied, and who did not 
interfere in their conversation. He did not understand a 
word of Italian, and, his boat being sufficiently loaded, he 
took no other passengers, which gave them at last that 
security and repose of body and mind which they required 
in order to enjoy, in its full extent, the magnificent spec- 
tacle presented to their eyes every moment of their voyage. 
The weather was lovely. There was a remarkably clean 
little cabin in the boat, into which Consuelo could retire 
to rest her eyes from the glare of the water; but she had 
become so accustomed during the preceding days to the 
open air and beaming sun, that she preferred to pass almost 
the whole time lying upon the bales, delightfully occupied 
in watching the rocks and trees on the bank as they 
seemed to glide away behind her. She practiced music at 
her leisure with Haydn, and the droll recollection of the 
music-mad Hoditz, whom Joseph called the maestro- 
maniac, mingled much gaiety with their warblings. Jos- 
eph mimicked him to the life, and felt a malicious joy at 
the idea of his disappointment. Their laughter and their 
songs cheered and charmed the old mariner, who, like 
every German peasant, was passionately fond of music. He 
saug to them in his turn some airs which possessed a sort 
of aquatic character, and which Consuelo learned from 
him with the words. They completely gained his heart 
by feasting him as well as they could at the first landing- 
place, where they laid in their own provisions for the day 


502 


CONSUELO. 


— the most peaceful and the most agreeable they had yet 
spent since the commencement of their journey. 

Excellent Baron de Trenck I” said Joseph, changing 
for silver one of the shining pieces of gold which that noble- 
man had given him; ^Mt is to him that I owe the power of 
at last relieving the divine Porporina from fatigue, from 
famine, from danger, from all the ills which misery brings 
in its train. Yet I did not like him at first, that noble and 
benevolent baron 

‘‘ Yes,” said Consuelo, ^^you preferred the count. I am 
glad now that the latter confined himself to promises, and 
did not soil our hands with his gifts.” 

‘‘After all, we owe him nothing,” resumed Joseph. 
“Who first entertained the thought of fighting the re- 
cruiter? — it was the baron; the count did not care, and 
only followed his companion through complafsance and for 
fashion’s sake. Who ran all the risk and received a ball 
through his hat, very close to the skull? — again the baron! 
Who wounded and perhaps killed that infamous Pistola? 
the baron. Who saved the deserter, at his own expense 
perhaps, by exposing himself to the anger of a terrible 
master? Lastly, who respected you, and did not appear to 
recognize your sex ? Who comprehended the beauty of 
your Italian airs and the good taste of your. style ?” 

“And the genius of Master Joseph Haydn?” added 
Consuelo, smiling; “ the baron — always the baron I” 

“Doubtless,” returned Haydn, retorting the roguish in- 
sinuation; “and it is perhaps very fortunate for a certain 
noble and dearly-beloved absent one, of whom I have heard 
mention, that the declaration of love to the divine Porpor- 
ina proceeded from the ridiculous count instead of the 
brave and fascinating baron.” 

“ Beppo I” replied Consuelo, with a melancholy smile, 
“the absent never suffer wrong except in mean and un- 
grateful hearts. That is why the baron, who is generous 
and sincere, and who loves a mysterious beauty, could not 
think of paying court to me. I ask you yourself, would 
you so easily sacrifice the love of your betrothed and the 
fidelity of your heart to the first chance caprice ?” 

Beppo sighed deeply. “You cannot be the first chance 
caprice for any one,” said he, “ and the baron would have 
been very excusable had he forgotten all his loves, past 
and present, at the sight of you.” 


GONSUELO. 


503 


You grow gallant and complimentary, Beppo ! I see 
that you have profited by the society of his lordship the 
count; but may you never wed a Margravine, nor learn 
how love is treated when one marries for money !” 

They reached Lintz in the evening, and slept at last 
without terror and without care for the morrow. As soon 
as Joseph awoke, he hastened to buy shoes, linen, and 
many little niceties of musculine attire for himself, and 
especially for Consuelo, who could thus make herself look 
like a smart and handsome young man, as she jestingly 
said, in order to walk about the city and vicinity. The 
old boatman had told them that if he could find a freight 
for Moelk he would take them on board the following day, 
and would carry them twenty leagues further down the 
Danube. They spent that day therefore at Lintz, amus- 
ing themselves by climbing the hill, and examining tlie 
fortification below and that above, from y/hich latter they 
could contemplate the majestic windings of the river through 
the fertile plains of Austria. Thence they also saw a specta- 
cle which makes them very merry; this was Count Hoditz’s 
berlin, which entered the city in triumj:)!!. They recog- 
nized the carriage and the livery, and being too far off to 
be perceived by him, amused themselves with making low 
salutations down to the very ground. At last, toward 
evening, on returning to the river’s edge, they found their 
boat laden with merchandise for Moelk, and joyfully made 
a fresh bargain vVith their old pilot. They embarked be- 
fore daybreak, and saw the stars shining above their heads, 
while their reflection glistened in long lines of silver upon 
the rippled surface of the stream. This day passed no less 
agreeably than the preceding. Joseph had but one source 
of grief, which was the thought that he approached 
Vienna, and that this journey, of which he forgot all the 
sufferings and the dangers to recall its delightful moments, 
would soon be brought to a close. 

At Moelk they were obliged to leave their honest pilot, 
which they did not do without regret. They could not 
find in the vessels which offered for a continuation of their 
voyage the same conditions of privacy and security. Con- 
suelo, who now felt herself rested, refreshed, and strength- 
ened against all accidents, proposed to Joseph to resume 
their journey on foot until some more favorable opportu- 
nity. They had still twenty leagues to travel, and this 


504 


CONSUELO. 


manner of journeying was not very expeditious. The 
truth is, that Consuelo, even while persuading herself that 
she was impatient to resume tlie dress of her sex and the 
proprieties of her position, was, it must be confessed, at 
the bottom of her heart as little desirous as Joseph to 
arrive at the end of their expedition. She was too much 
of an artist in every fiber of her organization not to love 
the liberty, the danger, the deeds of courage and address, 
the constant and varied aspect of that nature which the 
pedestrian alone enjoys in its full extent — in short, all the 
romantic activity of wandering and solitary life. 

I call it solitary, dear reader, in order to express a secret 
and mysterious charm, which you can more easily compre- 
hend than I define. It is a state of mind, I think, 
which has no name in our language, but which you must 
have experienced if you have ever traveled on foot to any 
distance, either alone or with another self, or, like Con- 
suelo, with an accommodating companion, at once cheerful, 
obliging, and sympathizing. In such moments, if you 
were free from all immediate anxiety, from all disturbing 
thoughts, you have, I doubt not, felt a kind of strange 
delight, a little selfish perhaps, as you said to yourself. 

At this instant, no person is troubled about me, and no 
person troubles me ; no one knows where I am. Those 
who rule over my life would search for me in vain ; they 
cannot discover me in this situation — unknown to all, new 
even to myself — in which I have taken refuge. Those 
over whom I exercise an influence no longer feel the agita- 
ting effects of my presence, and I, in my turn, feel re- 
lieved at ceasing to impose it. I belong solely to myself, 
both as master and as slave. For there is not one of us, 
0 reader] who is not, with regard to a certain group of in- 
dividuals, at the same time somewhat of a slave and some- 
what of a master, independently of his own will, and often 
even without his own knowledge. 

No one knows where I am! That is indeed a thought of 
loneliness which has its charm — an inexpressible charm, 
rude and repulsive at first sight, but in reality gentle and 
legitimate. We are created for a life of reciprocity. The 
road of duty is long, rough, and bounded by no horizon 
but death, which is perhaps only the repose of a single 
night. Let us march onward then boldly, and without 
sparing our feet! But if, by a rare and happy chance 


CONSUELO. 


505 


which may render repose and solitude blameless, some 
green and flowery by-path opens before us, let -us profit by 
it to wander apart for a season from our fellow-men, and 
give ourselves up to silence and contemplation. These 
calm and peaceful moments are indispensable for the active 
and energetic man to recover his strength ; and just in 
proportion as you are a zealous worshiper in the Temple 
of God, and, consequently, a lover of your fellow-man, 
will you feel the sanctifying effects of these periods of re- 
flection and self-examination. The selfish man is alone 
always and everywhere. His soul is never fatigued by lov- 
ing, suffering, and persevering ; it is inert and cold, and 
has no more need of sleep and silence than a corpse. He 
who loves is rarely alone, and even when he is so, he is 
happy. His soul then enjoys a suspension of activity, 
which is as a deep sleep to a vigorous body. That sleep is 
an evidence of past fatigues, and the precursor of the new 
labors for which he is preparing. I can scarcely believe in 
the real grief of those who do not seek a refuge from their 
thoughts, nor in the absolute devotedness of those who 
have no need of rest. In the one case their grief is a sort 
of torpor which reveals that their spirit is broken and dead 
within them, and possesses no longer the power of loving ; 
in the other, their devotedness, knowing no cessation or 
pause, generally conceals some low and unworthy motive. 

These observations, though perhaps a little too long, are 
not out of place in a history of the life of Consuelo, an 
active and devoted spirit, if ever there was one, but who, 
notwithstanding, might otherwise have been accused of 
selfishness and frivolity by those who were unable to under- 
stand her. 


CHAPTEK LXXV. 

On the first day of their new journey, as our young 
travelers were crossing a small river by means of a wooden 
bridge, they saw a poor beggar woman, who held a little 
girl in her arms, seated upon the parapet and extending 
her hand to the passers-by for alms. The child was pale 
and ill, the woman wan and shaking with fever. Consuelo 
was seized with a deep feeling of sympathy and pity for 
those unfortunates, who recalled to her mind her mother 


506 


C0N8UEL0. 


and her own childhood. ^^That is the condition we were 
in sometim'es/^ said she to Joseph, who immediately 
understood her, and stopped with her to look at and ques- 
tion the beggar woman. 

Alas!^^ said the latter, only a few days ago I was very 
happy. I am a peasant from the neighborhood of Har- 
manitz in Bohemia. I was married five years since to a 
tall and handsome cousin of mine, who w^as the most in- 
dustrious of workmen and the best of husbands. About a 
year after our marriage,’ my poor Karl, who had gone to 
cut wood on the mountain, disappeared suddenly, without 
any one knowing what had become of him. 1 sank into 
poverty and grief. I thought that my husband had fallen 
from some precipice, or that the wolves had devoured him. 
Although I had an opportunity of being married again, the 
uncertainty of his fate and the alfection I felt for him pre- 
vented my thinking of it. Ah! I was well rewarded, my 
children. Last year, some person knocked at my door one 
evening; I opened it and fell on my knees on seeing my 
husband before me. But in what a condition, good God! 
He looked like a specter. He was withered up, sallow, his 
eyes haggard, his hair stiffened with ice, his feet all bleed- 
ing — his poor feet which had traveled I know’ not how 
many hundreds of miles over the most horrible roads, and 
in the most severe weather! But he was so happy at once 
more finding his wife and his poor little daughter, that he 
soon recovered his courage, his health, his strength, and 
his good looks. He told me that he had been kidnapped 
by banditti, who had carried him far, very far away, even 
to the sea, and had sold him to the King of Prussia for a 
soldier. He had lived for three years in that most gloomy 
of all countries, suffering severe hardships and receiving 
blows from morning to night. At last he succeeded in. 
escaping— deserting, my good children. In fighting des- 
perately against those who pursued him, he had killed one 
and put out the eye of another with a stone; then, travel- 
ing day and night, hiding in the swamps and in the woods 
like a wild beast, he had crossed Saxony and Bohemia — he 
was saved, he was restored to me ! Ah ! how happy we 
were during the whole winter, in spite of our poverty and 
the rigor of the season. We had but one anxiety, that of 
again seeing in our neighborhood those birds of prey who 
bad caused all our sufferings. We formed the project of 


C0N8UEL0. 


507 


going to Vienna, presenting ourselves to the empress, and 
relating our misfortunes to her, in order to obtain her pro- 
tection, military service for my husband, and some subsist- 
ence for myself and child. But I fell ill in consequence of 
the shock I had experienced at again seeing my poor Karl, 
and we were obliged to pass the whole winter and all the 
summer in our mountains, always waiting for the moment 
when I could undertake the journey, always on our guard 
and sleeping with watchful eyes. At last this happy 
moment arrived: I felt myself strong enough to walk, and 
our little girl, who. was also suffering, was to make the 
journey in her father’s arms. But an evil destiny awaited 
us on leaving the mountains. We were walking tranquilly 
and leisurely by the side of a much-frequented road, with- 
out paying attention to a carriage which, for a quarter of 
an hour, had been slowly ascending in the same direction 
with ourselves. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and three men 
got out. ‘Is that he?’ cried one. ‘ Yes,’ replied another, 
who was blind of an eye, ‘ that is he ! quick ! quick !’ My 
husband turned at these words. ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘those are 
Prussians; that is the man whose eye I put out ; I recog- 
nize him!’ ‘Eun! run!’ said I, ‘ save yourself !’ He com- 
menced to fly, when one of those abominable men rushed 
upon me, threw me down, and presented one pistol at my 
head and another at my child’s. But for that diabolical 
idea, my husband would have been saved, for he ran better 
than the ruffians and had the start of them. But at the 
shriek which escaped me on seeing my child under the 
muzzle of the pistol, Karl turned, uttered loud cries to pre- 
vent him from firing, and retraced his steps. When the 
villain who had his foot on my body saw Karl within 
reach, ‘ Yield,’ cried he, ‘or I kill them. Make but an 
attempt to fly and it is done!’ 

“ ‘ I yield, I yield ! here I am !’ replied my poor man, 
running toward them with greater speed than he had fled, 
notwithstanding the prayers and signs I made that he 
should let ns die. When the tigers had him in their 
grasp, they overwhelmed him with blows and left him 
covered with blood. I endeavored to defend him ; they 
maltreated me also. On seeing him bound before my eyes, 
I shrieked, I filled the air with my cries. They told me 
they would kill my little one if I did not keep still, and 
they had already torn her from my arms, when Karl said 


508 


CONSUELO, 


to me, ^ Silence! wife, I command you; think of our child 1^ 
I obeyed, but the effort was so violent that I fell as if dead 
upon the road. When I opened my eyes it was night; my 
poor child was lying upon me, and was sobbing so bitterly 
that it nearly broke my heart. There was no trace of 
what had occurred but my husband^s blood on the road 
and the mark of the wheels which had carried him away. 
I remained there an hour or two more, trying to console 
and warm Maria, who was benumbed and half dead with 
fear. At last when my senses returned, I thought that the 
best plan was not to run after the kidnappers whom I 
could not overtake, but to go and make my declaration to 
the officers of Wiesenbach, the nearest city. I did so, 
and then I resolved to continue my journey to Vienna, 
throw myself at the feet of the empress, and beseech her 
to prevent the King of Prussia from having the sentence 
of death executed upon my husband. Her majesty could 
claim him as her subject, in case the recruiters should not 
be overtaken. Aided by some alms which had been given 
me in the territory of the Bishop of Passau, where I related 
my disaster, I succeeded in reaching the Danube, and 
thence I descended in a boat to the city of Moelk. People 
to whom 1 tell my story are not willing to believe me, and 
suspecting me to be an impostor give me so little that I 
must continue my journey on foot — happy if I can arrive 
in five or six days without dying of fatigue, for illness and 
despair have exhausted me. Kow, my dear children, if 
you have the means of giving me some little assistance, do 
so immediately, for I cannot remain here any longer ; I 
must travel on and on, like the wandering Jew, until I 
have obtained justice.” 

^'Oh, my good woman, my poor woman!” cried Oon- 
suelo, clasping the poor creature in her arms, and weeping 
with joy and compassion; ‘‘ courage! courage! Take hope 
and comfort! Your husband is delivered. He is galloping 
toward Vienna on a good horse, with a well-lined purse in 
his pocket.” 

What do you say?” cried the deserter’s wife, her eyes 
becoming red as blood, and her lips trembling with a con- 
vulsive movement. Are you certain you have seen him? 
Oh, my Grod! Oh God of goodness!” 

If you should inspire her with false hopes? If the de- 
serter whom we assisted to save, should be another than 


CONSUELO, 


509 


her husband? Alas! what have you done?” said Joseph to 
Consuelo. 

** It is himself, Joseph! I tell you it is he. Remember 
the man with the one eye ; remember Pistola's style of 
proceeding. Remember that the deserter said he was the 
father of a family and an Austrian subject. Besides, we 
can easily ascertain exactly. What sort of a man is your 
husband?” 

‘‘ Red haired, with gray eyes, a large face, six feet and 
an inch high; his nose a little flattened, his forehead 
low. A superb man!” 

“ That is he,” said Consuelo, smiling, “and his dress?” 

“ A green frock, much worn, brown breeches, and gray 
stockings.” 

“ That is he again; and the recruiters? Did you remark 
them ?” 

“ Do you ask me if I remarked them ? Holy Virgin ! 
their horrible faces will never leave my memory.” The 
poor woman then gave with much exactness a description 
of Pistola, the One-eyed, and the Silent Man. “ There 
was also a fourth,” continued she, “who remained by the 
horse, and took no part in the deed. He had a great un- 
meaning face, which seemed to me even more cruel than 
the others; for, while I was weeping, and they were beat- 
ing my husband, and tying him with cord like an assassin, 
that brute sang and made a noise with his mouth, as if he 
were sounding a charge on the trumpet : broum, broum, 
broum, broum. Ah! he had a heart of iron!” 

“Ha! that must have been Mayer,” said Consuelo to 
Joseph. “ Do you still doubt? Has he not that trick of 
singing and playing the trumpet with his mouth every 
moment?” 

“ It is true,” said Joseph. “Then it was Karl whom 
we saw delivered? Thank Heaven.” 

“Oh! yes, thanks to the good God before all!” said the 
poor woman, throwing herself upon her knees. “ Maria,” 
said she to her little girl, “ kiss the earth with me to thank 
the guardian angels and the Holy Virgin. Your father is 
found, and we shall soon see him again.” 

“Tell me, my good woman,” observed Consuelo, “has 
Karl also the custom of kissing the ground when he is well 
pleased ?” 

“Yes, my child, he never fails to do so. When he re- 


510 


CONSUELO. 


turned after having deserted, he would not pass the dooroi 
our house until he had kissed the threshold/^ 

‘‘Is that the custom of your country?’^ 

“ No; it is a manner of his own, which he taught us, and 
which has always brought us luck/^ 

“ Then it was certainly he whom we saw,^^ returned 
Consuelo; “for we saw him kiss the earth to thank those 
who had delivered him. You remember that, Beppo?” 

“ Perfectly! It was he; there is no longer any doubt of 
it.’’ 

“Oh? let me press you to my heart,” cried the wife of 
Karl, “angels of paradise! who bring me such good news. 
But tell me all about it.” 

Joseph related all that had happened; and when the poor 
woman had breathed forth all her transports of joy and 
gratitude toward Heaven, and thanked Joseph and Con- 
suelo over and over again, whom she rightly considered as 
the primary cause of her husband’s deliverance, she asked 
them what she must do to find him again. 

“ I think,” said Consuelo, “ that the best thing you can 
do is to continue your journey. You will find him at 
Vienna, if you do not meet him on the road. His first care 
will be to make his declaration to his sovereign, and to re- 
quest of the offices of the administration that you may be 
informed in whatever place you happen to be. He will not 
fail to make the same declaration in every important town 
through which he passes, and obtain information of the 
route you have taken. If you reach Vienna before him, 
do not fail to communicate to the administration the 
place where you lodge, that notice may be given to Karl 
as soon as he presents himself.” 

“ But what offices? what administration? I know nothing 
of these customs. And -such a great city! I shall lose 
myself, I, a poor peasant!” 

“ Oh!” said Joseph, “ we have never had an opportunity 
of knowing any more than yourself, but ask the first person 
you meet to show you the Prussian embassy. Ask for his 
lordship, the Baron ” 

“ Take care what you are about to say, Beppo!” said 
Consuelo in a low voice to Joseph, as a hint that he must 
not compromise the baron in this adventure. 

“ Well, Count Hoditz?” returned Joseph. 

“Yes, the count; he will do from vanity that which the 


CONSUELO. 


611 


other would have done from charity. Ask for the dwelling 
of the Margravine Princess of Bareith, and present to her 
husband the note I am going to give you/^ 

Consnelo tore a blank leaf out of Joseph’s memo- 
randum book, and wrote the following words on it with a 
pencil: 

Consnelo Porporina, prirna donna of the San Samuel 
Theater at Venice, ex-Signor Bertoni, and wandering singer 
at Passan, recommends to the noble heart of the Count 
Hoditz-Koswald the wife of Karl the deserter, whom his 
lordship rescued from the hands of the recruiters and 
covered with benefits. The Porporina promises to thank 
his lordship the count for his protection in presence of 
madame the margravine, if his lordship will permit her 
the honor of singing in the private apartments of her high- 
ness.” Consuelo wrote the address with care, and then 
looked at Joseph, who understood her, and drew out his 
purse. Without any further consultation and by a spon- 
taneous movement, they gave the poor woman the two 
gold pieces which remained of Trenck’s present, in order 
that she might pursue her journey in some vehicle, and 
they then conducted her to the neigliboring village, where 
they assisted her to make a bargain with an honest 
vetturino. After they had made her eat something and 
bought her some clothes, an expense which was defrayed 
from the remainder of their little fortune, they sent off the 
poor creature whom they had just restored to life. Con- 
suelo then asked, laughingly, how much remained at the 
bottom of their purse. Joseph took his violin, shook it at 
his ear, and replied, “Notliing but sound.” 

Consuelo tried her voice in the open air with a brilliant 
roulade and cried, There is still a good deal of sound re- 
maining!” Then she joyously stretclied out her hand to 
her companion, and clasped his heartily, saying, You are 
a brave lad, Beppo!” 

^^And you also!” replied Joseph, wiping away a tear, 
and bursting into a loud shout of laughter. 


512 


CONSUELO, 


CHAPTER LXXVI. 

It is not a very alarming predicament to find one’s self 
without money when near the end of a journey, but even 
though our young artists had still been very far from their 
destination, they would not have felt less gay than they 
were on finding themselves entirely penniless. One must 
thus be without resources in an unknown country (Joseph 
was almost as much a stranger at this distance from 
Vienna as Consuelo) to know what a marvelous sense of 
security, what an inventive and enterprising genius, is re- 
vealed as if by magic in the artist who has just spent his 
last farthing. Until then, it is a species of agony, a con- 
stant fear of want, a gloomy apprehension of sufferings, 
embarrassments, and humiliations, which disappear as soon 
as you have heard the ring of your last piece of money. 
Then, for romantic spirits, a new world begins — a holy 
confidence in the charity of others, and numberless charm- 
ing illusions; but also an aptitude for labor and a feeling 
of complacency which soon enabled them to triumph over 
the first obstacles. Consuelo, who experienced a feeling 
of romantic pleasure in this return to the indigence of her 
earlier days, and who felt happy at having done good by 
the exercise of self-denial, immediately found an expedient 
to ensure their supper and night’s lodging. “ This is 
Sunday,” said she to Joseph; ‘‘you shall play some danc- 
ing tunes in passing through the first village we come to; 
we shall find people who want to dance before we have 
gone through two streets, and we shall be the minstrels. 
Do you know how to make an oaten pipe? I can soon 
learn to use it, and if I can draw some sounds from it, it 
will serve very well as an accompaniment to you.” 

“Do I know how to make a pipe?” replied Joseph; 
“ you shall see!” 

They soon found a fine reed growing at the river’s side, 
and having pierced it carefully, it sounded wonderfully 
well. A perfect unison was obtained, the rehearsal fol- 
lowed, and then our young people marched off very tran- 
quilly until they reached a small hamlet three miles off, 
into which they made their entrance to the sound of their 
instruments, and crying before each door, “ Who wishes to 


GONSVBLO. 


513 


dance? Who wishes to dance? Here is the music, the 
ball is going to begin.” 

They reached a little square planted with lofty trees, 
escorted by a troop of children, who followed them, march- 
ing, shouting, and clapping their hands. In a short time 
some joyous couples came to raise the first dust by opening 
the dance; and before the soil was well trodden, the whole 
population assembled and made a circle around a rustic 
ball, got up impromptu, without preparation or delay. 
After the first waltzes, Joseph put his violin under his 
arm, and Consuelo, mounting upon her chair, made a 
speech to the company to prove to them that fasting artists 
had weak fingers and short breath. Five minutes after- 
ward they had as much as they wished of bread and cheese, 
beer and cakes. As to the salary, that was soon agreed 
upon; a collection was to be made, and each was to give 
what he chose. 

After having eaten, they mounted upon a hogshead 
which had been rolled triumphantly into the middle of the 
square, and the dance began afresh; but, after the lapse of 
two hours, they were interrupted by a piece of news 
which made every body anxious, and passed from mouth to 
mouth until it reached the minstrels. The shoemaker 
of the place, while hurriedly finishing a pair of shoes for 
an impatient customer, had just stuck his awl into his 
thumb. 

It is a serious matter, a great misfortune,” said an old 
man, who was leaning against the hogshead which served 
them as a pedestal. Gottlieb, the shoemaker, is the or- 
ganist of our village, and to-morrow is the fete-day of our 
patron saint. Oh, what a grand f4te! what a beautiful fete! 
There is nothing like it for ten leagues round. Our mass 
especially is a wonder, and people come a great distance 
to hear it. Gottlieb is a real chapel -master; he plays the 
organ, he makes the children sing, he sings himself; 
there is nothing he does not do, especially on that day. 
He is the soul of every thing; without him all is lost. 
And what will the canon say, the canon of St. Stephen's, 
who comes himself to officiate at the mass, and who is al- 
ways so well pleased with our music? For he is music- 
mad, the good canon, and it is a great honor for us to see 
him at our altar, he who hardly ever leaves his benefice, 
and does not put himself out of his way for a trifle.” 


514 


CONSUELO, 


Well!” said Consuelo, tliere is one means of arrang 
ing all this ; either my comrade or myself will take charge 
of the organ, of the direction — in a word, of the mass ; 
and if the canon is not satisfied, you shall give us nothing 
for our pains.” 

"'Oh, ho!” said the old man, "you talk veVy much at 
your ease, young man ; our mass cannot ‘be played with a 
violin and a flute. Oh no! it is a serious matter, and you 
do not understand our scores.” 

"We will understand them this very evening,” said 
Joseph, affecting an air of disdainful superiority which 
imposed upon the audience grouped around him.” 

" Come,” said Consuelo, "conduct us to the church; 
let some one blow the organ, and if you are not satisfled 
with our style of playing, you shall be at liberty to refuse 
our aid.” 

"But the score? Gottlieb’s master-piece of arrange- 
ment?” 

" We will go and see Gottlieb, and if he does not declare 
himself satisfied with us, we renounce our pretensions. 
Besides, a wound in his finger will not prevent Gottlieb 
from directing the choir and singing his part.” 

The elders of the village, who were assembled around 
them, took counsel together and determined to make the 
trial. The ball was abandoned ; the canon’s mass was 
quite a different amusement, quite another affair from 
dancing! 

Haydn and Consuelo, after playing the organ alternately 
and singing together and separately, were pronounced to 
be very passable musicians for want of better. Some 
mechanics even dared to hint that their playing was prefer- 
able to Gottlieb’s, and that the fragments of Scarlatti, of 
Pergolese, and of Bach, which they produced, were at 
least as fine as the music of Holzbauer, which Gottlieb al- 
ways stuck to. The curate, who hastened to listen to 
them, went so far as to say that the canon would much 
prefer these airs to those with which they usually regaled 
him. The sacristan, who was by no means pleased with this 
opinion, shook his head sorrowfully ; and not to make his 
parishioners discontented, the curate consented that the 
two virtuosi sent by Heaven should come to an under- 
standing if possible with Gottlieb to accompany the mass. 

They proceeded in a body to the shoemaker’s house ; he 


CONSUELO. 


515 


was obliged to display his inflamed hand to every one in 
order that they might see plainly he could not fill his post 
of organist. Tlie impossibility was only too apparent. 
Gottlieb had a certain amount of musical capacity, and 
played the organ passably ; but spoiled by the praises of 
his fellow-citizens, and the somewhat mocking flatteries of 
the canon, he displayed an inconceivable amount of con- 
ceit in his execution and management. He lost temper 
when they proposed to replace him by two birds of passage ; 
he would have preferred that there had been no f4te at all, 
and that the canon had gone without music, rather than 
share the honors and triumph. Nevertheless he had to 
yield the point ; he pretended for a long time to search 
for the different parts, and it was only when the curate 
threatened to give up the entire choice of the music to the 
two young artists that he at last found them. Consuelo 
and Joseph had to prove their acquirements by reading at 
sight the most difficult passages in that one of tlie twenty- 
six masses of Holzbauer which was to be performed next 
day. This music, although devoid of genius and origi- 
nality, was at least well written and easy to comprehend, 
especially for Consuelo, who had surmounted much more 
difficult trials. The auditors were enraptured, and Gott- 
lieb, who grew more and more out of sorts, declared he 
had caught fever, and that he was going to bed, delighted 
that every body was content. 

As soon as the voices and instruments were assembled in 
the church, our two little chapel-masters directed the re- 
hearsal. All went on well. The brewer, the weaver, the 
school-master, and the baker of the village, played the four 
violins. The children, with their parents, all good- 
natured, attentive, and phlegmatic artisans and peasants, 
made up the choir. Joseph had already heard Holzbaiier’s 
music at Vienna, where it was in vogue. They set to work, 
and Consuelo, taking up the air alternately in the differ- 
ent parts, led the choristers so well that they surpassed 
themselves. There were two solos, which the son and 
niece of Gottlieb, his favorite pupils, and the first singers 
in the parish, were to perform ; but the neophytes did not 
appear, alleging as a reason that they were already sure of 
their parts. 

Joseph and Consuelo went to sup at the parsonage, 
where an apartment had been prepared for them. The 


516 


C0N8UEL0. 


good curate was delighted from his heart, and it was clear 
that he set great store by the beauty of his mass, in the 
hopes of thereby pleasing his reverend superior. 

Next day all the village was astir. The bells were 
chiming, and the roads were covered with the faithful 
from the surrounding country, flocking in to be present at 
the solemnity. The canon’s carriage approached at a slow 
and majestic pace. The church was decked out in its 
richest ornaments, and Oonsuelo was much amused with 
the self-importance of every one around her. It almost 
put her in mind of the vanities and rivalries of the theart;er, 
only here matters were conducted with more openness, 
and there was more to occasion laughter than arouse in- 
dignation. Half-an-hour before the mass commenced, the 
sacristan came in a dreadful state of consternation to dis- 
close a plot of the jealous and perfidious Gottlieb. Having 
learned that the rehearsal had been excellent, and that the 
parish was quite enraptured with the new-comers, he had 
pretended to be very ill, and forbid his son and niece, the 
two principal performers, to leave his bedside for a mo- 
ment; so that they must want Gottlieb’s presence to set 
things a-going, as well as the solos, which were the most 
beautiful morceaux in the mass. The assistants were so 
discouraged, that the precise and bustling sacristan had 
great difficulty to get them to meet in the church in order 
to hold a council of war. 

Joseph and Consuelo ran to And them, made them re- 
peat over the more intricate passages, sustained the flag- 
ging, and gave confidence and courage to all. As for the 
solos, they quickly arranged to perform them themselves. 
Consuelo consulted her memory, and recollected a religious 
solo by Porpora, suitable to the air and words of the part. 
She wrote it out on her knee, and rehearsed it hastily with 
Joseph, so as to enable him to accompany her. She also 
turned to account a fragment of Sebastian Bach which 
he knew, and which they arranged as they best could to 
suit the occasion. 

The bell tolled for mass while they were yet rehearsing, 
and almost drowned their voices with its din. When the 
canon, clothed in all his robes of state, appeared at the 
altar, the choir had already commenced, and was getting 
through a German fugue in very good style. Consuelo 
was delighted in listening to these good German peasants 


C0N8UEL0. 


517 


with their grave faces, their voices in perfect tune, their 
accurate time, and their earnestness, well sustained be- 
cause always kept within proper bounds. 

‘‘See!” said she to Joseph during a pause, “those are 
the people to perform this music. If they had the fire 
which the composer was deficient in, all would go wrong; 
but they have it not, and his forced and mechanical ideas 
are repeated as if by mechanism. How does it happen 
that the illustrious Count Hoditz -Roswald is not here to 
conduct these machines? He would have taken a world of 
trouble, been of no use whatever, and remained the best 
satisfied person in the world.” 

The male solo was awaited with much anxiety and some un- 
easiness. Joseph got well through his part, but when it came 
to Consuelo’s turn, her Italian manner first astonished the 
audience, then shocked them a little, and at last ended by 
delighting them. The cantatrice sung in lier best style, 
and her magnificent voice transported Joseph to the 
seventh heaven. 

“ I cannot imagine,” said he, “ that you ever sang better 
than at this poor village mass to-day — at least with more 
enthusiasm and delight. This sort of audience sympathizes 
more than that of a theater. In the meantime, let me see 
if the canon be satisfied. Ah! the good man seems in a 
state of placid rapture, and from the way in which every 
one looks to his countenance for approbation and reward, 
it is easy to perceive that heaven is the last thing thought of 
by any present, except yourself, Consuelo! Faitli and 
divine love could alone inspire excellence like yours.” 

When the two virtuosi left the church after mass was 
over, the people could scarcely be dissuaded from bearing 
them off in triumph. The curate presented them to the 
canon, who was profuse in his eulogiurns upon them, and 
requested to hear Porpora’s solo again. But Consuelo, 
who was surprised, and with good reason, that no one had 
discovered her female voice, and who feared the canon’s 
eye, excused herself on the plea that the rehearsal and the 
different parts she sang in the choir had fatigued her. 
The excuse was overruled, and they found themselves 
obliged to accept the curate’s invitation to breakfast with 
the canon. 

The canon was a man about fifty years of age, with a 
benevolent expression and handsome features, and re- 


518 


GONSUELO. 


markably well-made, although somewhat inclined to cor- 
pulence. His manners were distinguished, even noble, 
and he told everyone in confidence that he had royal blood 
in his veins, being one of the numerous illegitimate de- 
scendents of Augustus II, Elector of Saxony and King of 
of Poland. 

He was gracious and affable, as a man of the world and 
a dignified ecclesiastic should be. Joseph observed along 
with him a layman whom he appeared to treat at once with 
consideration and familiarity. Joseph thought he had 
seen this person at Vienna, but he could not recollect his 
name. 

Well, my children,^^ said the canon, you refuse me 
a second hearing of Porpora’s composition. Here is one 
of my friends, a hundred times a better musician and 
judge than I am, who was equally struck with your exe- 
cution of the piece. Since you are tired,” added he, ad- 
dressing Joseph, ^^I shall not torment you further, but 
have the goodness, to inform me what is your name, and 
where you have studied music?” 

Joseph perceived that he got the credit of Consuelo’s 
performance, and he saw at a glance that he was not to 
correct the canon’s mistake. 

‘^My name is Joseph,” replied he, briefly, '^and I 
studied at the free school of St. Stephen’s.” 

And I also,” replied the stranger; I studied with the 
elder Eeuter, as you probably with the younger.” 

^^Yes, sir.” 

^' But you have had other lessons? You have studied in 
Italy?” 

^"Ko, sir.” 

It was you who played the organ?” 

Sometimes I played it, and sometimes my com- 
panion?” 

But who sang?” 

We both sang.” 

Yes; but I mean Porpora’s theme; was it not you?” 
said the unknown, glancing at Consuelo. 

Bah! it was that child!” said the canon, also looking 
at Consuelo; he is too young to be able to sing in that 
style.” 

‘‘ True, sir; it was not I, but he,” she replied quickly, 
looking at Joseph. She was anxious to get rid of these 
questions, and turned impatiently toward the door. 


CONSTfELO, 


old 

Why do you tell fibs, my child ?” said the curate. 

I saw and heard you sing yesterday, and I at once recog- 
nized your companion's voice in Baches solo.^^ 

Come, you are deceived, Mr. Curate,” continued the 
stranger, with a knowing smile, or else this young man 
is unusually modest. However it may be, you are both 
entitled to high praise.” 

Then drawing the curate aside, he said, You have an 
accurate ear, but your eyes are far from being equally so ; 
it speaks well for the purity of your thoughts. But I 
must not the less inform you that this little Hungarian 
peasant is a most able Italian donna” 

A woman in disguise !” cried the curate, endeavoring 
to repress an exclamation of surprise. 

He looked attentively at Consuelo, while she stood ready 
to reply to the canon’s questions, and whether frorh 
pleasure or indignation, the good curate reddened from his 
skull-cap to his hands. 

The fact is as I have informed you,” replied the un- 
known. I cannot imagine who s^e is, and as to her dis- 
guise and precarious situation, I can only ascribe them to 
madness or to some love affair. But such things concern 
us not, Mr. Curate.” 

love affair?” exclaimed the excited curate. ^‘A 
runavyay match — an intrigue with this youth ? Oh ! it is 
shocking to be so taken in! I who received them in my 
abode ! Fortunately, however, from the precautions 
which I took, no scandal can occur here. But what an 
adventure! How the free-thinkers of my parish — and I 
know several, sir — would laugh at my expense if they knew 
the truth !” 

‘^If your parishioners have not recognized her woman’s 
voice, neither have they, it is probable, detected her feat- 
ures or her form. But what pretty hands, what silken 
hair, and what little feet, in spite of the clumsy shoes 
which disfigure them !” 

, Do not speak of them,” exclaimed the curate, losing 
all command of himself ; it is an abomination to dress 
in man’s attire. Tliere is a verse in the Holy Scriptures 
which condemns every man and woman to death who quits 
the apparel of their sex — you understand me, sir — to 
death. That indicates what a heinous sin it is. And yet 
she dared to enter the church and to sing the praises of 
the Lord sullied with such a crime !” 


5^0 


C^OmUELO. 


Yes, and sang divinely! Tears flowed from niy eyes, 
never did I hear any thing like it. Strange mystery ! 
AVho can she be? Those whom I should be inclined to 
guess are all much older.” 

But she is a mere child, quite a young girl,” replied 
the curate, who could not help looking at Consuelo with a 
heartfelt interest which his severe principles combated. 
‘MVhat a little serpent! See with what a sweet and 
modest air she replies to the canon! Ah! l am a lost man 
if any one finds it out. I shall have to fly the country.” 

‘‘What! have neither you nor any of your parisliioners 
detected a woman^s voice ? Why, you must be very 
simple.” 

“ What would you have? We thought there was cer- 
tainly something strange in it; but Gottlieb said it was an 
Italian voice, one from the Sistine chapel, and that he had 
often heard the like! I do not know what he meant by 
that; I know no music except what is contained in my 
ritual, and I never suspected. What am I to do, sir? — 
what am I to do ?” 

“If nobody suspects, I would have you say nothing 
about it. Get rid of them as soon as you can. I will take 
charge of them if you choose.” 

“Oh, yes! you will do me a great service! Stay! Here 
is money — how much shall I give them ?” 

“ Oh ! that is not my business. Besides, you know we 
pay artists liberally. Your parish is not rich, and the 
church is not bound to act like the theater.” 

“I will act handsomely — I will give them six florins! I 
will go at once. But what will the canon say? He seems 
to suspect nothing. Look at him speaking to her in so 
fatherly a manner! What a pious man he is !” 

“ Frankly, do you think he would be much scandalized?” 

“ How should he be otherwise? But I am more afraid 
of his raillery than of his reproaches. Oh! you do not 
know how dearly he loves a joke — he is so witty! Oh! 
how he would ridicule my simplicity !” 

“ But if he shares your error, as he seems to do, he will 
not be able to ridicule you. Come, appear to know noth- 
ing, and seize a favorable moment to withdraw your musi- 
cians.” 

They left the recess of the window where they had been 
conversing, and the curate gliding up to Joseph, who 


(J0N8UEL0. 


521 


appeared to occupy the canon’s attention much less than 
Signor Bertoni, slipped the six florins into his hands. As 
soon as he received this modest sum, Joseph signed to 
Consuelo to disengage herself and follow him out; but the 
canon called Joseph back, still believing, after his answers 
in the affirmative, that it was he who had the female 
voice. 

'^Tell me then,” said he, ‘^why did you choose this 
piece of Porpora’s in preference to Holzbaiier’s solo ?” 

^^We were not acquainted with it,” said Joseph. 
sang the only thing which I remembered perfectly.” 

The curate hastened to relate Gottlieb’s ill-natured 
trick, whose pedantic jealousy made the canon laugh 
heartily. 

‘MVell,” said the unknown, ^^your good shoemaker has 
rendered us an essential service. Instead of a poor solo, 
we have had a masterpiece by a great composer. You 
have displayed your taste,” said he, addressing Consuelo. 

do not think,” replied Joseph, ^^that Holzbaiier’s 
solo was bad; what we sang of his was not without merit.” 

Merit is not genius,” said the unknown, sighing; 
then seemingly anxious to address Consuelo, he added, 
‘MVhat do you think, my little friend? Do you think 
they are the same?” 

No, sir; I do not,” she answered briefly and coldly; 
for this man’s look irritated and annoyed her more and 
more. 

‘‘But nevertheless you found pleasure in singing this 
mass of Holzbauer’s?” resumed the canon. “ It is well 
written, is it not?” 

“I neither felt pleasure nor the reverse,” said Consuelo, 
whose increasing impatience rendered her incapable of 
concealing her real sentiments. 

“ That is to say that it is neither good nor bad,” replied 
the unknown, laughing. “It is well answered, and I am 
quite of your opinion.” 

The canon burst out laughing, the curate seemed very 
much embarrassed, and Consuelo, following Joseph, dis- 
appeared without heeding in the least this musical dis- 
cussion. 

“ Well, Mr. Canon,” said the unknown, maliciously, 
“how do you like these young people?” 

“ They are charming! admirable! Excuse me for saying 


522 


COJSrSUELO. 


so after the rebuff which the little one dealt you just 
now.” 

‘‘Excuse you? Why, I was lost in admiration of the 
lad. AV hat precious talents! It is truly wonderful! How 
powerful and how early developed are these Italian 
natures!” 

“I cannot speak of the talent of one more than the 
other,” replied the canon, with a very natural air, “for I 
could not distinguish your young friend^’s voice in the 
choruses. It is his companion who is the wonder, and he 
is of our own country — no offense to your Italianomania,'^ 

“Oh!” said the unknown, winking at the curate, “then 
it is the eldest who sang from Porpora?” 

“ I think so,” replied the curate, quite agitated at the 
falsehood into which he was led. 

“I am sure of it,” replied the canon; “he told me’ so 
himself.” 

“ And the other solo,” said the unknown, “ was that by 
one of your parishioners?” 

“ Probably,” replied the curate, attempting to sustain 
the imposture. 

Both looked at the canon to see whether he was their 
dupe or whether he was mocking them. He did not 
appear even to dream of such a thing. His tranquility 
reassured the curate. They began to talk of something 
else, but at the end of a quarter of an hour the canon re- 
turned to the subject of music, and requested to see 
Joseph and Consuelo, in order to bring them to his 
country-seat and hear them at his leisure. The terrified 
curate stammered out some unintelligible objections, 
while the canon asked him, laughing, if he had popped 
his little musicians in the stew-pan to add to the magnifi- 
cence of the breakfast, which seemed sufficiently splendid 
without that. The curate was on the tenter-hooks, when 
the unknown came to his assistance. 

“I shall find them for you,” said he to the canon; and 
he left the room, signing to the good curate to trust his 
discovering some expedient. But there was no occasion to 
employ his inventive powers. He learned from the 
domestic that the young people had set off through the 
fields, after generously handing over to him one of the 
florins they had just received. 

“How! set out?” exclaimed the canon, with the utmost 


C0N8UEL0. 


623 


mortification; ‘^you must run after them. I positively 
must hear them and see them again.” 

They pretended to obey, but took care not to follow 
them. They had, besides, flown like birds, anxious to 
escape the curiosity which threatened them. The canon 
evinced great regret, and even some degree of ill-temper. 

‘"Heaven be praised! he suspects nothing,” said the 
curate to the unknown. 

“ Mr. Curate,” replied the latter, “ do you recollect the 
story of the bishop who, inadvertently eating meat one 
Friday, was informed of it by his vicar-general. “ The 
wretch 1’ exclaimed the bishop, ‘ could he not have held 
his tongue till after dinner I’ We should perhaps have let 
the canon undeceive himself at his leisure.” 


CHAPTER LXXVII. 

The evening was calm and serene, the moon shone full 
in the heavens, and nine o^clock had just sounded with a 
clear, deep tone from the clock of an ancient priory, when 
Joseph and Consuelo, having sought in vain for a bell at 
the gate of the inclosure, made the circuit of the silent 
habitation, in the hope of being heard by some hospitable 
inmate. But in vain, all the gates were locked; not the 
barking of a dog was heard, nor could the least light be 
seen at the windows of the gloomy edifice. 

“ This is the palace of silence,” said Haydn, laughing, 
“and if that clock had not twice repeated, with its slow 
and solemn voice, the four quarters in iit and in si, and 
the nine strokes of the hour in sol below, I should think 
the place abandoned to owls and ghosts.” 

The surrounding country was a desert. Consuelo felt 
much fatigued, and moreover this mysterious priory had 
an attraction for her poetic imagination. ‘ “ Even if we 
have to sleep in some chapel,” said she to Beppo, “ I long 
to pass the night here. Let us endeavor to get in at 
any rate, even if we are obliged to scale the wall, which 
does not seem a very difficult task.” 

“Come,” said Joseph, “I will make a short ladder for 
you, and when you are on the top, I will pass quickly to 
the other side to serve you as steps in descending,” 


524 


CONSUELO. 


No sooner said than done. The wall was extremely low', 
and two minutes afterward our young sacrilegious adven- 
turers were walking calmly within the sacred precints. It 
was a beautiful kitchen garden cultivated with the nicest 
care. The fruit trees, trained along the wall in a fan-like 
shape, opened to all comers their long arms loaded with 
rosy apples and golden pears. From the graceful trellises 
of vines hung, like so many chandeliers, enormous bunches 
of juicy grapes. The large square beds of vegetables had 
likewise their peculiar beauty. The asparagus, with its 
graceful stalks and silky foliage, brilliant with the evening 
dew, resembled forests of lilliputian furs covered with a 
silvery gauze. The peas, spread in light garlands upon 
their branches, formed long alleys and narrow and mys- 
terious lanes, in which the little birds, hardly yet asleep, 
murmured with low quavering voices. The sunflowers, 
huge leviathans of this sea of verdure, displayed great 
masses of orange on their broad and dark green leaves. 
The little artichokes, like tributary crowmed heads, grouped 
themselves round their chief which grew from the central 
stem ; and the melons, like lazy Chinese mandarins in 
their palanquins, hid coyly beneath their shades, each of 
whose crystal domes, reflected in the light of the moon^s 
rays, seemed an enormous sapphire against which the daz- 
zled beetles dashed their heads with a low and prolonged 
hum. 

A hedge of roses separated the kitchen garden from the 
parterre, and surrounded the building as with a girdle of 
flowers. This inner enclosure was a species of elysium. 
Bare and magniflcent shrubs shaded exotic plants of ex- 
quisite perfume; the flowers were so close together as to 
completely hide the soil, and each plot resembled an im- 
mense vase. 

How singular the influence of outward objects on the 
mind and body! Consuelo had no sooner breathed the 
perfumed air, and cast a glance upon this sweet and tran- 
quil spot, than she felt herself refreshed as if she had al- 
ready slept the sound and dreamless sleep of the monks. 

‘‘Well, is it not wonderful, Beppo?^^ said she; “in 
looking at this garden I have already forgotten the stony 
road and my tired and swollen feet! It seems to me that 
I am refreshed .through the medium of my (yes I have 
always hated well-kept, orderly gardens, and every place 


CONSUELO, 


525 


surrounded with walls; and yet after so much dust and so 
long a march upon the parched and withered soil, this ap- 
pears to me a paradise. I W’as dying with thirst just now, 
but by looking upon these sweet plants, open to the dew of 
night, it seems as if I drank along with them, and my 
thirst is already quenched. Look, Joseph, is it not charm- 
ing to see these flowers display their beauties beneath the 
liglit of the moon? Ah, look at them, but smile not at 
those great white stars, nestling in the velvet grass. I am 
not quite sure of their name— sweet-by- night, I think it 
is. Oh ! they are well named. They are, indeed, 
bright and beautiful as the stars of heaven! They nod 
their graceful heads with the slightest breath, and seem as 
if they laughed and sported, like a crown of young girls 
all clad in white. They recall to my mind my companions 
of the scuolaf when on Sundays, dressed in the costume of 
novices, they tripped past the long walls of the church. 
Now see how they pause, motionless, and turn toward the 
moon! It would almost seem as if they were looking at 
and admiring her. And the moon too seems to look at 
them, and hover over them like some huge bird of the 
night. Do you think, Beppo, that these creatures are in- 
sensible? I cannot think that a beautiful flower should 
stupidly vegetate without experiencing some delightful 
feelings. I do not speak of those poor little thistles which 
one sees along the hedge-rows, dusty, sickly-looking, 
browsed upon by all the herds that pass! They seem like 
poor beggars sighing for a drop of water, which never 
comes to them; for the parched and thirsty soil drinks all 
up without heeding their supplicating looks. But these 
garden-flowers, so cared for, so tended — they are proud 
and happy as queens! They pass their time coquettishly 
waving on their stems, and when the moon, their sweet 
friend, visits them, then they are already half asleep and 
rocked by gentle dreams. Perhaps they ask if there be 
flowers in the moon, as we ourselves ask whether there be 
men. Come now, Joseph, you are mocking me, and yet 
the pleasure which these snow-white flowers impart is no 
illusion. There is, in the air which they purify and re- 
fresh, a sovereign balm, and I feel as if there were an inti- 
mate relation between my life and that of all which 
breathes around me. 

‘'How! mock you?'" replied Joseph, sighing; “your 


526 


CONSUELO, 


words pass into my soul and Vibrate in my heart, as on the 
strings of some instrument. But behold this dwelling, 
Consuelo, and explain to me, if you can, the sweet yet 
deep-seated melancholy with which it inspires me.^^ 

Consuelo looked at the priory; it was a little building 
dating from the twelfth century, formerly fortified with 
battlements, which had given place to pointed' roofs of 
gray slate. The machiolated turrets which had been left 
as an ornament resembled large baskets. Luxuriant masses 
of ivy gracefully relieved the monotony of the walls; and 
upon the uncovered portions of the fa9ade, now lighted by 
the moon, the breath of night cast the slender and un- 
certain shadow of the young poplars. Huge festoons of 
vine and jessamine encircled the doors and twined them- 
selves around the windows. 

The dwelling is calm and melancholy,” said Consuelo; 
but it does not inspire me with the same sympathy as 
tlie garden. Plants are made to vegetate — men to move 
and stir about. If I were a fiower I should wish to grow 
here, for here a fiower were happy ; but being a woman, I 
should not wish to live in a cell and be cased in stone. 
Would you be a monk, then, Beppo?” 

Heaven forbid ! but I should love to work without 
having to look after either dwelling or food. I should 
like to lead a peaceful retired life, tolerably comfortable, 
without the cares of poverty; in short, an easy existence, 
were it even dependent, provided always my mind were 
free, with no other duty, no other care, than to study and 
compose.” 

Well, my dear comrade, you would compose calm and 
tranquil music by dint of being calm and tranquil your- 
self.” 

And why not ? What is more delightful than tran- 
quility? The heavens are calm, the moon is calm ; these 
flowers also, whose peaceful habits you admire, I like their 
immobility, because it succeeds the undulations which the 
breeze gives them. The serenity of the heavens strikes us 
because we so often see them clouded by the storm. The 
moon is never so sublime as when she shines amid the dark 
clouds that sweep across her. Can repose be sweet without 
fatigue? In that case it is no longer repose, but only a 
species of immobility; it is nonentity — it is death.” 

Ah, if you had lived with me for months together in 


CONSmLO. 5^^ 

the Castle of the Giants, you would have seen that tran- 
quility is not life.” 

But what would you call tranquil music?” 

Music too correct and too cold. Avoid such, if you 
would avoid the pains and fatigue of this world. 

Thus conversing they approached close to the priory. A 
fountain of the purest water gushed from a globe of marble, 
surmounted by a golden cross, and fell from basin to basin 
till it reached a granite reservoir, hollowed into a shell, 
where a number of those little gold and silver fish with 
which children amuse themselves frisked about. Con- 
suelo and Beppo, who were still children, entertained them- 
selves by casting in grains of sand to deceive their gluttony, 
and to enable them to admire their rapid movements, when 
all at once there advanced toward them a tall figure dressed 
in white and carrying a pitcher. As she approached the 
fountain, she bore no bad resemblance to one of the mid- 
night loashers who have formed part of the fanciful super- 
stitions of most countries. The absence of mind or in- 
difference with which she filled her vessel, without testify- 
ing either terror or surprise on seeing them, had in truth 
something strange and solemn in it; but the shriek which 
she uttered, 'as she let her pitcher fall to the bottom of the 
water, soon showed that there was nothing supernatural in 
her character. The good woman^s sight was simply dim 
with years, and as soon as she perceived them she fled 
toward the house, invoking the Virgin Mary and all the 
saints. 

What is the matter now. Dame Bridget?” exclaimed a 
man’s voice from the interior ; ‘‘ have you seen an evil 
spirit?” 

‘‘Two devils, or rather two robbers, are there beside the 
fountain!” replied Dame Bridget, joining her interlocutor, 
who stood for some moments uncertain and incredulous 
on the threshold. 

“It must be one of your panic terrors, dame! Would 
robbers, think you, come at this hour?” 

“ I swear by my salvation, that there are two dark mo- 
tionless figures there; don’t you see them from this?” 

“ I do see something,” said the man, affecting to raise 
his voice; “ but 1 will ring for the gardener and his boys, 
and will soon bring these rascals to reason; they must have 
come over the wall, for I closed the doors.” 


528 


C0N8VBL0. 


Meanwhile, let us close this one also, said the old 
lady, "^and then we shall sound the alarm-bell/' 

The door was closed, and the wanderers remained stand- 
ing outside, not knowing well what to do. To fly were to 
confirm this bad opinion of them; to remain were to expose 
them to an attack. While they consulted together they 
saw a ray of light stream through the shutters of a window 
on the first story. The light increased, and a curtain of 
crimson damask, behind which shone a lamp, was gently 
raised, and a hand, to which the light of the full moon im- 
parted a white and plump appearance, was visible on the 
border of the curtain, the fringes of which it carefully 
grasped, while a hidden eye probably examined objects 
outside. 

Sing,” said Consuelo to her companion, that is what 
we had better do. Follow me — let me lead. But no, take 
your violin and play me a r.itornella — the first key you hap- 
pen on.” 

Joseph having obeyed, Consuelo began to sing with a 
clear full voice; improvising, between music and prose, 
the following species of recitative in German: 

We are two poor children of fifteen, no larger and yet 
no worse than the nightingales, whose gentle strains we 
copy. 

(^^Come, Joseph,” said she in a low tone, “something 
to sustain the recitative.”) Then she went on; 

“Worn with fatigue, and woe-begone in the dreary 
night, we saw this house afar off, which seemed a solitude, 
and we ventured over the wall. (A chord in la minor, 
Joseph.) 

“We have reached the enchanted garden, filled with 
fruits worthy of the promised land. We die of hunger, we 
die of thirst; yet if one apple be wanting from the espalier, 
if one grape be missing from the vine, let us be expelled, 
undeserving as we should then prove. (A modulation to 
return to Kt major, Joseph.) 

But they suspect, they threaten ns, and yet we would 
not flee. We do not seek to hide ourselves, because we 
have done no harm, unless indeed it be wrong to enter the 
house of God over walls, though, were it to scale a para- 
dise, all roads are surely good.” 

Consuelo finished her recitative by one of those pretty 
hymns in mock Latin, called at Venice Latino di ^ati, and 


CONSUELO. 


529 


whioli people sing at eve before the Madonna. Hardly had 
she finished when the two white hands, at first scarcely 
visible, applauded with transport, and a voice not alto- 
gether strange, sounded in her ears: 

Disciples of the muses, you are welcome! Enter quickly, 
hospitality invites and awaits you.” 

The minstrels approached, and in an instant after, a do- 
mestic in red and violet livery courteously threw open the 
door. 

We took you for robbers; a thousand pardons, my dear 
young friends,” he laughingly said; it is your own fault 
— why did you not sing sooner? With such a passport you 
would never fail of a welcome from my master. But enter, 
it appears he knows you already.” 

Thus saying, the civil domestic preceded them a dozen 
steps up an easy stair covered with a. beautiful Turkey car- 
pet. Before Joseph had time to inquire his master’s name, 
he had opened a folding door, which fell back of its own 
accord without noise, and after having crossed a comfort- 
able ante-chamber, he introduced them to an apartment 
where the gracious patron of this happy abode, seated be- 
fore a roast pheasant flanked by two flasks of mellow wine, 
began his first course, keeping a majestic and anxious eye 
at the same time on the second. On returning from his 
morning’s excursion he had caused his valet to arrange his 
toilet, and had reclined for some time in order to restore 
his looks. His gray locks curled softly under the sweetly 
smelling hair-powder of orris root, while his white hands 
rested on his black satin breeches secured by silver buckles. 
His well-turned leg, of which he was somewhat vain, and 
over which a violet-colored stocking was tightly stretched, 
reposed on a velvet cushion, while his corpulent frame, 
attired in a puce-colored silk dressing gown, was luxuri- 
ously buried in a huge tapestried chair, so stuffed and ^ 
rounded that the elbow never incurred the risk of meeting 
an angle. Seated beside the hearth, where the fire glowed 
and sparkled before her master’s chair. Dame Bridget, the 
old housekeeper, prepared the coffee with deep care and 
anxiety, and a second valet, not less urbane in his manner 
and appearance than the first, carved the wing of the fowl 
which the holy man waited for without either impatience 
or disquietude. Joseph and Consuelo bowed on recogniz- 
ing in their benevolent host the canon major of the cathe-. 


530 


CONSUELO. 


dral chapter of St. Stephen, before whom they had sung 
that very morning. 


CHAPTER LXXVIII. 

The canon was perhaps one of the most comfortable 
men in the world. When he was seven years old, he had 
(thanks to royal patronage) been pronounced of age, con- 
formably to the laws of the church, which admit the very 
liberal principle that, though at that early period of life a 
man may not be exactly a sage, he at least possesses all the 
wisdom requisite to receive and consume the fruits of a 
benefice. In virtue of this decision, the tonsured child, 
although the illegitimate offspring of a prince, had been 
created a canon — still, however, strictly in accordance 
with the rules of the church, which tolerantly take for 
granted the legitimacy of such juvenile churchmen as owe 
their benefices to the patronage of sovereigns, although 
under other circumstances these same rules require that 
every aspirant to ecclesiastical distinction should be the 
offspring of lawful marriage, failing in proof of 
which, he might be declared ‘^disqualified’^ — nay, 
even “ unworthy ” and “ infamous,” if necessary. There 
are indeed many ways of managing these affairs. 
It was provided for by the canonical laws that a found- 
ling might be considered legitimate, for the cogent 
reason that in cases of mysterious parentage we should 
charitably suppose good rather than evil. The little canon 
came into possession of a rich prebendary, under the title 
of canon major; and toward the age of fifty, after forty 
years’ service in the chapter, he was recognized as an extra 
or retired canon, free to reside where he pleased, and re- 
quired to perform no duty in return for the immunities, 
revenues, and privileges of his benefice. It is true, indeed, 
that the worthy canon had, from the earliest years of his 
clerical life, rendered considerable service to the chapter. 
He was declared absent, which, according to the laws of the 
church includes permission to reside away from the chapter, 
under pretexts more or less specious, without subjecting the 
non-resident placeman to the loss of the emoluments attached 


CONSUELO. 


531 


to the discharge of ministerial duties. The breaking out 
of plague, for example, in a priest's dwelling, is an admis- 
sible plea for absence. Delicate health also affords a con- 
venient excuse. But the best founded and best received 
of the various reasons for the absence" of a 
canon from his benefice, is that furnished by 
study. For instance, some important work is under- 
taken and announced' on a case of conscience on 
the fathers, the sacraments, or, better still, the constitution 
and foundation of the chapter, the honorary and actual 
advantages connected with it, its superiority over other 
chapters, the grounds of a lawsuit with some rival com- 
munity about an .estate or a right of patronage— these and 
similar subtleties being much more interesting to ecclesi- 
astical bodies than commentaries on creed or doctrine; so 
that, if it should appear requisite for a distinguished mem- 
ber of the chapter to institute researches, collate deeds, 
register acts and protests, or enter libels against rich 
adversaries, the lucrative and agreeable option of resuming 
a private life, and spending his income, whether in 
traveling about or at his own fireside, is readily conceded. 
Thus did our cannon. 

A wit, a fluent speaker, and an elegant writer, he had 
long promised, and would probably continue to promise 
all his life, to write a book on the laws, privileges, and im- 
munities of his chapter. Surrounded by dusty quartos 
which he had never opened, he had not as yet produced 
his own, and it was obvious never would do so. His two 
secretaries, whom he had engaged at the expense of tlie 
chapter, had only to perfume his person and prepare his 
meals. They talked a great deal about this famous book ; 
they expected it, and based upon its powerful arguments a 
thousand dreams of revenge, glory, and profit. This book, 
which had no existence, had procured for its author a 
reputation for learning, perseverance, and eloquence, of 
which he was in no haste to produce proofs; not that he 
was by any means incapable of justifying the good opinion 
of his brethren, but merely because life was short, meals 
were long, the toilet indispensable, and the far niente 
delicious. And then our canon indulged in two passions, 
innocent indeed, but insatiable: he loved horticulture, and 
he doated on music. With so much to do, how could he 
have found leisure to write a book? Then it is so pleasant 


532 


C0N8UEL0, 


for a man to talk of a book that he has not written, and so 
disagreeable, on the contrary, to speak of one that he has! 

The benefice of this saintly personage consisted of a tract 
of productive soil, attached to the secular priory where he 
resided for some eight or nine months of the year, absorbed 
in the culture of his flowers and his appetite. Jlis mansion 
was spacious and romantic, and he had made it comforta- 
ble, and even luxurious. Adandoning to gradual decay 
those portions which had in former times been inhabited 
by the old monks, he preserved with care and adorned with 
taste those suited to his own tastes and habits. Alterations 
and improvements had transformed the ancient monastery 
into a snug chdteau, where the canon lived as became a 
gentleman. lie was a good-natured son of the church; 
tolerant, liberal on occasion, orthodox- with those of his 
own calling; cheerful, full of anecdote, and accessible to 
men of the world; affable, cordial, and generous toward 
artists. Ilis domestics, sharing his good cheer, aided him 
with all their power. Ilis housekeeper indeed would now 
and then cross him a little ; but then she made such 
delicious pastry, and was so excellent a hand at preserves, 
that he bore her ill-humor calmly, saying that a man 
might put up with the faults of others, but that it would 
not be so easy a matter to do without a nice dessert and 
good coffee. 

Our young artists were accordingly most graciously 
received. 

Ahr said he, '^you are dear creatures, full of wit and 
cleverness, and I love you with all my heart. Besides, you 
possess infinite talent; and there is one of you, I don’t 
know which, who has the sweetest, the most touching, the 
most thrilling voice I have ever heard. That gift is a 
prodigy — a treasure; and I was quite melancholy this eve- 
ning after you left the curate’s, fearing that I should per- 
haps never see you, never hear you again. I assure you I 
quite lost my appetite on your departure, and I was out of 
sorts all the rest of the evening. That sweet music and 
sweeter voice would not leave my mind or my ears. But 
Providence, and perhaps also your good hearts, my chil- 
dren, have sent you to me; for you must have known that 
I comprehended and appreciated you.” 

We are forced to admit, reverend canon,” replied 
Joseph, ^Uhat chance alone brought us here, and that we 
were far from reckoning on this good fortune,” 


CONSUELO. 


533 


The good fortune is mine/' said the amiable canon, 
'' for you are going to sing for me. But, no; it would be 
selfish in me to press you. You are tired — hungry, per- 
haps. You shall first sup, next have a good night's rest, 
and then to-morrow for music! And, then, such music! 
We shall have it all day long! Andre, you will conduct 
these young people to the housekeeper's room, and {)ay 
them eveiy attention. But, no — let them remain and sup 
with me. Lay two covers at the foot of the table." 

Andre zealously obeyed, and even evinced the utmost 
satisfaction; but Dame Bridget displayed quite an opposite 
feeling. She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and 
deprecatingly muttered between her teeth. 

Pretty people to eat at your table! — strange companions 
truly for a man of your rank!" 

‘‘Hold your peace, Bridget!" replied the canon, calmly; 
“you are never satisfied with any one, and when you 
see others enjoying a little pleasure you become quite 
violent." 

“You are at a loss how to pass your time," said she, 
without heeding his reproaches. “ V>y flattering you and 
tickling your ears you are as easily led as a child.'^ 

“Be silent!" repeated the canon, raising his voice a 
little, but without losing his good humor. “ You are cross 
as a weasel, and if you go on scolding you will lose your 
wits and spoil the colfee." 

“ Great . pleasure and great honor, forsooth; to make 
coffee for such guests!" 

“ Oh! you must have great people, must you? You love 
grandeur, it would seem ; nothing short of princes, and 
bishops, and canoncsses, with sixteen quarter! ngs in their 
coats of arms, will serve your turn! 'Jo me all that sort 
of nonsense is not worth a song well sung." 

Consuelo was astonished to hear so exalted a personage 
disputing, with a kind of childish pleasure, with his house- 
keeper, and during the whole evening she was surprised 
at the puerile nature of his pursuits, lie incessantly 
uttered silly remarks upon every subject, just to pass the 
time, and to keep himself in good humor, lie kept calling 
to the servants continually — now seriously discussing with 
them the merits of a fish sauce, anon the arrangement of 
a piece of furniture! He gave contradictory orders, enter- 
ing into the most trifling details with a gravity worthy of 


534 


C0N8UEL0. 


more serious affairs; listening to one, reproving another, 
holding his ground against the unruly Bridget, yet never 
without a pleasant word for question or reply. One would 
have thought, that, reduced by his secluded and simple 
habits of life to the society of his domestics, he tried to 
keep his wit alive, and to promote his digestion, by a mod- 
erate exercise of thought. 

The supper was exquisite, and the profusion of the 
viands unparalleled. Between the removes the cook was 
summoned, praised for some of his dishes, and gently rep- 
rimanded and learnedly instructed with respect to others. 
The travelers felt as if they had fallen from the clouds, 
and looked at each other as though alL they saw around 
them were an amusing dream, so incomprehensible did such 
refinements appear. 

“ Come, come; it is not so bad,” said the good canon, 
dismissing the culinary artist; I see I shall make some- 
thing of you, if you only show a desire to please and 
attend to your duty.” 

One would fancy,” thought Consuelo, ^^that all this 
was paternal advice or religious exhortation.” 

At the dessert, after the canon had given the house- 
keeper her share of praise and admonition, he at length 
turned from these grave matters and began to talk of 
music. His young guests then saw him in a more favorable 
point of view. On this subject he was well-informed ; his 
studies were solid, his ideas just, and his taste was refined. 
He was a good organist, and having seated himself at the 
harpsichord after the removal of the cloth, played for 
them fragments from the old German masters, which he 
executed with purity and precision of style. Consuelo 
listened with interest ; and having found upon the harpsi- 
chord a collection of this ancient music, she began to turn 
over the leaves, and forgetting the lateness of the hour, 
she requested the canon to play in his own free and pecul- 
iar style several pieces which had arrested her attention. 
The canon felt extremely flattered by this compliment to 
his performance. The music with which he was ac- 
quainted being long out of fashion, he rarely found an 
audience to his mind. He therefore took an extraordinary 
liking to Consuelo in particular ; for Joseph, tired out, 
had fallen asleep in a huge arm-chair, which, deliciously 
alluring, invited to repose. 


CONSUELO. 


535 


Truly exclaimed tlie canon in a moment of entlm- 
siasm, ^^you are a most wonderful child, and your pre- 
cocious genius promises a brilliant career. For the first 
time in my life I now regret the celibacy which my pro- 
fession imposes on me.” 

This compliment made Oonsuelo blush and tremble lest 
her sex should have been discovered, but she quickly re- 
gained her self-possession when the canon naively added : 

Yes, I regret that I have no children, for Heaven 
might perhaps have given me a son like you, who would 
have been the happiness of my life — even if Bridget had 
been his mother. But tell me, my friend, what do you 
think of that Sebastian Bach, with whose compositions 
our professors are so much enraptured nowadays? Do 
you also think him a wonderful genius? I have a large 
book of his works which I collected and had bound, 
because, you know, one is expected to have every thing of 
that kind. They may -be beautiful for aught I knovv ; 
but there is great difficulty in reading them, and I confess 
to you that the first attempt having repelled me, I have 
been so lazy as not to renew it ; moreover, I have so little 
time to spare. I can only indulge in music at rare inter- 
vals, snatched from, more serious avocations. You have 
seen me much occupied with the management of my 
household, but you must not conclude from that that I am 
free and happy. On the contrary, I am enslaved by an 
enormous, a frightful task, which I have imposed upon 
myself. I am writing a book on which I have been at 
work for thirty years, and which another would not have 
completed in sixty — a book which requires incredible 
study, midnight watchings, indomitable patience, and pro- 
found reflection. I think it is a book that will make some 
noise in the world.” 

But is it nearly finished?” asked Oonsuelo. 

Why, not exactly,” replied the canon, desirous to con- 
ceal from himself the fact that he had not commenced it. 

But we were observing just now that the music of Bach 
is terribly difficult, and that, for my own part, I consider 
it peculiar.” 

If you could overcome your repugnance I think you 
would perceive that his is a genius which embraces, unites, 
and animates all the science of the past and the present.” 

^^Well,” retiu’ued the canon, “if it be so, we three will 


536 


CONSUELO. 


to-morrow endeavor to decipher something of it. It is 
now time for you to take some rest and for me to betake 
myself to my studies. But to-morrow you will pass the 
day with me ; that is the understanding, is it not?’" 

‘‘The whole day? that is asking too much, sir — we must 
hasten to reach Vienna ; but for the morning we are at 
your service.” 

The canon protested — nay, insisted — and Consuelo pre- 
tended to yield, promising herself that she would hurry 
the adagios of the great Bach a little, and leave the priory 
about eleven o’clock, or by noon at furthest. When they 
intimated a wish to retire, an earnest discussion arose on 
the staircase between Dame Bridget and the principal 
valet-de-chambre. The zealous Joseph, desirous of pleas- 
ing his master, had prepared for the young musicians two 
pretty cells situated in the newly-restored building occu- 
pied by the canon and his suite. Bridget, on the con- 
trary, insisted on sending them to •sleep in the desolate and 
forsaken rooms of the old priory, because that part of the 
mansion was separated from the new one by good doors 
and solid bolts. “ What !” said she, elevating her shrill 
voice on the echoing staircase, “ do you mean to lodge 
these vagabonds next door to us? -Do you not see from 
their looks, their manners, and their profession, that they 
are gypsies, adventurers, wicked little rogues, who ,will 
make off before morning with our knives and forks. Who 
knows but they may even cut our throats?” 

“Cut our throats? those children!” returned Joseph, 
laughing; “you are a fool, Bridget; old and feeble as 
you are, you would yourself put them to flight, merely by 
showing your teeth.” 

“Old and worn out indeed! Keep such language for 
yourself!” cried the old woman in a fury. “ I tell you 
they shall not sleep here ; I will not have them. Sleep, 
indeed? I should not close my eyes the whole night!” 

“Don’t be so silly. I am sure that those children have 
no more intention than I have to disturb your respectable 
slumbers. Come, let us have an end of this nonsense. 
My master ordered me to treat his guests well, and I am 
not going to shut them up in that old ruin, swarming with 
rats and open to every breeze. Would you have them 
sleep in the court-yard?” 

“ I would have had the gardener make up two good beds 


C0N8UEL0, 537 

of straw for them there; do you imagine that those bare- 
footed urchins are accustomed to beds of down?’^ 

‘‘They shall have them to-night at least, since it is my 
master's desire ; I obey no orders but his, Dame Bridget. 
Let me go about my business ; and recollect that it is your 
duty as well as mine to obey, and not to command." 

“Well said! Joseph," exclaimed the canon, who, from 
the half-open door of the ante-chamber, had, much to his 
amusement, heard the whole dispute. “ Go get my slip- 
pers, Bridget, and have mercy on our ears. Good-night, 
my little friends. Follow Joseph. Pleasant dreams to 
you both! Long live music, and hey for to-morrow!" 

Long, however, after our travelers had taken possession 
of their snug bed-rooms, they heard the scolding of the 
housekeeper, shrill as the whistling of the wintry wind, 
along the corridors. When the movement which an- 
nounced the ceremony of the canon's retiring to bed had 
ceased. Dame Bridget stole on tip-toe to the doors of his 
young guests, and, quickly turning the key in each lock, 
shut them in. Joseph, buried to the ears in the most 
luxurious bed he had ever met with in his life, had already 
fallen asleep, and Consuelo followed his example, after 
having laughed heartily to herself at Bridget's terrors. 
She who had trembled almost every night during her 
journey, now made others tremble in their turn! She 
might have applied to herself the fable of the hare and the 
frogs, but I cannot positively assert that Consuelo was ac- 
quainted with La Fontaine's fables. Their merit was 
disputed at that epoch by the most noted wits of the uni- 
verse; Voltaire laughed at them, and the Great Frederick, 
to ape his philosopher, despised them profoundly. 


CHAPTER LXXIX. 

At break of day, Consuelo, seeing the sun shining, and 
feeling invited to a walk by the joyous warblings of a 
thousand birds, which were already making good cheer in 
the garden, endeavored to leave her chamber. But the 
embargo was not yet raised, and Dame Bridget still held 
her prisoners under lock and key. Consuelo at first 
thought that it was perhaps an ingenious idea of the 
canon's, who wished to secure the musical enjoyment of 


538 


CONStlELO. 


the day and had thought it prudent in the first place to 
make certain of the persons of the- musicians. The young 
girl, rendered hardy and agile by her masculine costume, 
examined the window, and saw that the descent was ren- 
dered easy by a large vine supported by a massive trellis 
which covered the whole wall. Descending slowly and 
carefully, so as not to injure the magnificent grapes of the 
priory, she reached the ground and buried herself in the 
recesses of the garden, laughing inwardly at Bridget’s sur- 
prise and disappointment when she should find her precau- 
tions frustrated. 

Consuelo now saw the superb flowers and magnificent 
fruits which she had admired by moonlight under another 
aspect. The breath of morning and the* oblique rays of 
the rosy and smiling sun invested these beautiful produc- 
tions of the earth with a new poetry. A robe of velvet- 
like satin enveloped the fruits, the dew hung in pearls of 
crystal from every branch, and the turf, frosted with silver, 
exhaled that light vapor which seems the breath of earth 
aspiring once more to ascend to heaven, and unite itself 
with the blue and cloudless firmament. 

But nothing could exceed the freshness and beauty of 
the flowers, still loaded as they were with the moisture of 
the night, at this mysterious and shadowy hour of dawn, 
when they open as if to display those treasures of purity, 
and to shed those sweetest perfumes, which the earliest 
and purest of the sun’s rays are alone worthy to behold 
and to possess for an instant. The canon’s garden was 
in truth a paradise for a lover of horticulture. To Con- 
suelo’s eyes, indeed, it seemed somewhat too symmetrical 
and too carefully tended ; but the fifty species of roses 
which adorned its parterres, the rare and charming 
hibiscus, the purple sage, the geraniums varied almost to 
infinity, the perfumed daturas, with their deep opal cups, 
impregnated with nectar worthy of the gods, the graceiul 
asclepiades, in whose subtle poison the insect finds a vol- 
uptuous death, the splendid cactuses, displaying their 
scarlet effulgence on their strangely rugged stems — a 
thousand curious and superb plants which Consuelo had 
never seen, and of whose names and origin she was alike 
ignorant, long riveted her attention. 

Examining their various attitudes and the- sentiments 
which their several peculiarities seemed to convey, she en- 


CONSVELO. 


530 


deavored to seize and define the analogy existing between 
music and flowers, and sought to explain their joint influ- 
ence on the temperament of her host. The harmony of 
sounds had long appeared to her related in some way to 
the harmony of colors ; but the harmony of both these 
harmonies seemed to her perfume. Plunged at this in- 
stant in a soft and dreamy reverie, she fancied she heard 
a voice issue from each of these painted chalices, and tell 
her their poetic mysteries in a language hitherto unkhown. 
The rose spoke of her burning loves, the lily of her chaste 
delight; the superb magnolia told of pure enjoyments and 
lofty pride, and the lovely little hepatica rela'ted all the 
pleasures of a simple and retired existence. Some flowers 
spoke with strong and powerful voices, which proclaimed 
in accents trumpet- tongued, ‘‘I am beautiful and I rule."^ 
Others murmured in tones scarcely audible, but exquisitely 
soft and sweet, am little and I am beloved.’^ And 
they all waved gracefully together in the breath of morn- 
ing, and united their voices in an aerial choir which died 
away gently amid the listening herbs and beneath the 
foliage that drank in with greedy ears its mystic meaning. 

All at once amid these ideal harmonies and ecstatic 
reveries, Consuelo heard piercing cries proceed from be- 
hind the trees which hid the wall. To these cries, which 
died away in the silence of the surrounding country, suc- 
ceeded the rolling of carriage wheels; then the carriage 
appeared to stop, and blows were heard on the iron railing 
which inclosed the garden on that side. But whether it 
was that all the household was still asleep, or that no per- 
son cared to reply, they knocked in vain, and the shrill 
exclamation of a female voice, joined to the oaths of a man 
calling for help, fell upon the walls of the priory without 
awaking in the senseless stones any more echo than in the 
hearts of those whom they sheltered. All the windows 
which looked out on this side of the building were so 
firmly closed in order to protect the canon^s repose, that no 
noise could penetrate the oaken window-shutters garnished 
with leather and stuffed with hair. The servants, busied 
in the green behind the house, did not hear the applica- 
tion for admittance, and there were no dogs in the priory, 
as the canon had no fancy for those importunate guardians, 
who, under the pretext of keeping thieves at a distance, 
ruffle the repose of their masters. Consuelo endeavored to 


540 


CONSUELO, 


obtain an entrance into the house, in order to acquaint the 
inmates that there were travelers in distress, but every 
door was carefully shut; so, yielding to the impulse of the 
moment, she ran to the wicket whence the noise proceeded. 
A traveling carriage, loaded with packages and covered 
with dust from the journey, had drawn up at the principal 
entrance of the garden. The postilions had alighted and 
vainly tried to shake the inhospitable gate, while groans 
and cries issued from the carriage. ‘^Open!^^ cried they to 
Consuelo, if you are Christians! There is a lady dying 
here.” 

Open !” cried a woman, leaning out of the door, whose 
features were unknown to Consuelo, but whose Venetian 
accents impressed her vividly, My mistress will die if you 
do not immediately grant her hospitality. Open if you 
are men.” 

Consuelo, without reflecting on the consequences of 
her first impulse, endeavored to open the gate; but it was 
closed by an enormous padlock, the key of which was 
probably in Dame Bridget’s pocket. The bell was also 
fastened by a secret spring. In that quiet and honest 
country such precautions had not been taken against evil 
doers, but merely against the noise and inconvenience of 
unseasonable visitors. It was impossible for Consuelo to 
gratify her kind wishes on the poor woman’s behalf, and 
she listened in melancholy silence to the reproaches of the 
maid, who, speaking Venetian to her mistress, cried with 
impatience, ^‘The stupid • creature ! the awkward little 
fellow! he does not know how to open a gate.” The Ger- 
man postilions, more patient and phlegmatic, were endeav- 
oring to assist Consuelo, but without success, when the 
suffering lady, appearing in her turn at the window of the 
carriage, cried with a commanding voice in bad German, 
‘^Go this minute, you miserable little wretch, and find 
some person to open the gate !” 

This energetic apostrophe reassured Consuelo respecting 
the imminent danger of the lady. If she be near dying,” 
thought she, ^^it is at least by a violent death;” and 
addressing herself in Venetian to the traveler, whose accent 
was as plainly marked as the maid’s : 

‘^I do not belong to this house,” said she; I was 
merely received as a guest here last night; I will go and 
try to awaken the inmates, which will be neither a quick 


C0N8UEL0. 


541 

nor an easy matter. Are you in such danger, madam, that 
you cannot wait here a little while without disparing ?^’ 

expect my confinement immediately, you stupid 
creature \” cried the traveler; I have not a moment to 
wait; run, shout, break every thing, bring somebody and 
procure me admittance — you shall be well paid for your 
trouble. 

She again commenced to utter loud cries. Consuelo felt 
her knees tremble — that face, that voice were not unknown 
to her! “What is the name of your mistress cried she 
to the maid. 

“ What concern is it of yours ?” replied the agitated 
soubrette. “Eun, you miserable being I If you lose any 
time, I warn you you will not get a farthing. 

“ I want nothing from you,” replied Consuelo, warmly ; 
“but I wish to know who you are. If your mistress be a 
musician, she will be received at once, and if I am not mis- 
taken, she is a celebrated singer.” 

“ Run, my little fellow,” said the lady, who between her 
attacks regained all her coolness and energy; “you are not 
mistaken. Tell the inhabitants of this house that the 
celebrated Gorilla is at the point of death, if some Chris- 
tian soul do not take pity on her situation. I shall pay 
them — say that I shall pay them handsomely. Alas ! 
Sophia,” said she to her maid, “lay me upon the ground ; 
I shall suffer less than in this infernal conveyance.” 

Consuelo hurried toward the priory, determined to 
rouse every one in the house, and at all hazards to reach 
the canon. She had already forgotten the strange concur- 
ence of circumstances which had led her rival and the 
cause of all her sufferings to this spot; she only thought of 
lending her every assistance. But she had no need to 
make a noise. On her way she met Bridget, who, at 
length aroused by the cries, had left the house escorted by 
the gardener and the canon^s valet. 

“A fine story I” she replied harshly, when Consuelo 
had explained the case. “ DoiTt go a step further, Andre; 
donT stir from this spot, gardener I Don’t you see 
that it is a scheme got up by banditti to rob and mur- 
der us ? I expected no less. A surprise — a pretense 
— a band of robbers prowling about the house, while 
those to whom we have given shelter endeavor to 
gain them admission on some false pretext ! Run for 


542 


GONSUELO. 


3^0111* muskets, my lads, and be ready to shoot this pre- 
tended lady who is on the point of being confined. Marry 
come up! a nice story! But were it even so, I wonder does 
she take this house for an hospital? I know nothing about 
such matters myself, and the canon does not like to hear 
such screaming sounding in his ears. How could any lady 
undertake a journey under such circumstances? If she 
have done so, who is to blame? Can we prevent her from 
suffering? Let her stay in her carriage; she will be just 
as well off as here where there is no provision for such an 
occurrence.^’ 

This tirade, commenced for Consuelo’s edification, and 
growled out along the whole length of the alley, was fin- 
ished at the gate for the benefit of -Gorilla’s maid. While 
the travelers, having pleaded in vain, exchanged reproaches, 
exclamations, and even abuse, with the intractable house- 
keeper, Consuelo, hoping something from the canon’s good 
nature and passionate love of art, had regained the house. 
In vain she sought his suite of apartments — she only lost 
herself in the intricacies of the vast dwelling. At last she 
met Haydn, who was in search of her, and who told her 
he had just seen the canon enter his conservatory. 
They repaired there together, and met their worthy host 
advancing to meet them under an arch of jessamine, with a 
countenance fresh and smiling as the morning, which was 
one of the sweetest and loveliest of autumn. Looking at 
the good man, as, folded in his soft quilted dressing-gown, 
he daintily picked his steps along the freshly raked and 
sanded paths, where not the smallest pebble appeared to hurt 
his delicate foot, Consuelo never doubted but that a being so 
happy, so serene, and agreeable, would be delighted to do a 
good action. She was commencing to prefer a plea for the 
poor suffering Gorilla, when Bridget, suddenly appearing, 
cut her short in the following words: 

There is a stroller yonder at your gate, a singer of the 
theater, who says she is a celebrated performer, and 
who has the voice and manner of a profligate! She says 
she is momentarily expecting her confinement, screams 
and swears like thirty demons, and requests permission to 
await her recovery here. Would that suit your conveni- 
ence?” 

The canon made a gesture expressive of refusal and dis- 
gust. 


C0N8UEL0. 


543 


^'Reverend sir/’ said Consuelo, whatever this woman 
may be, she is suffering. Her life, as well as that of the 
innocent creature whom God calls into existence, and 
whom religion requires you to foster, is endangered. You 
will not abandon this unhappy being — you will not suffer 
her to groan and languish at your doors?” 

^^Is she married?” inquired the canon coldly, after a 
moment’s reflection. 

I am not aware; probably she is. But what matters 
it? Has not God granted her the happiness of being a 
mother? He alone has the right to judge her.” 

She mentioned her name,” interrupted Bridget, vio- 
lently, “ and you must be acquainted with it as you know 
all the play-actors of Vienna. She is called Gorilla.” 

Gorilla!” exclaimed the canon. She has already been 
in Vienna once before — I have heard much of her. It is 
said she has a fine voice.” 

^‘For the sake of her sweet voice, then, open your doors 
to her,” said Gonsuelo; she lies stretched on the dusty 
road.” 

‘‘But she is an ill-conducted person,” replied the 
canon. “ She scandalized all Vienna some two years 
ago.” 

“ There are many who are jealous of your benefice, rev- 
erend sir — you understand me ” — screamed Dame Bridget. 
“A woman of irregular life awaiting her confinement in 
your house — that would scarcely seem a matter of chance, 
and still less a work of charity. You know that the canon 
Herbert has pretensions to your succession, and that he 
has already unseated a brother, under pretext that he 
neglected his duty and led an irregular life. A benefice 
like yours is more easily lost than gained.” 

These words made a sudden and decisive impression 
upon the canon. He prudently noted them in his secret 
thoughts, though he did not appear even to have heard 
them. 

“ There is an inn some two hundred paces from this,” 
said he, “let the lady be conducted there; she will receive 
the needful attentions, and be more fitly accommodated 
than with me. Go and tell her so, Bridget; but civilly — 
mark me — civilly! Point out the inn to the postilions. 
Gome, my children,” said he Gonsuelo and Joseph, “let 
us try a fugue of Bach’s while breakfast is being served 
up.” 


544 


CONSUELO. 


‘^Keverend canon/^ said Consuelo, agitated, ^^will you 
abandon ” 

‘‘Ah!” said the canon with a terrified air, “there is my 
most beautiful volkameria withered! I often told the 
gardener that he did not water it! A plant the rarest and 
most wonderful of all my garden! But it was fated, 
Bridget, you see! Call the gardener till I scold him 
soundly.” 

“ I must first chase the celebrated Gorilla from your 
gate,” replied Bridget, moving off. 

“And you consent? you order it, sir?” exclaimed the 
indignant Consuelo. 

“ It is impossible to do otherwise,” replied he, in a calm 
but indexible tone of voice. “I request that I may not 
be spoken to further on the subject. Come, begin; I await 
you.” 

“ There is no more music for us here,” exclaimed Con- 
suelo with energy. “ You would not be capable of under- 
standing Bach, you who are without pity or compassion! 
Ah, perish your fruits and fiowers! May frost destroy the 
bloom of your jasamines and blight the promise of your 
most precious trees! May this fruitful soil, which yields 
its bounties in such profusion, produce only thorns and 
thistles! For you have no heart. You rob Heaven of its 
gifts, in refusing to share them with your suffering neigh- 
bor.” 

So saying, Consuelo left the astounded canon, who 
gazed vacantly around him, as if he feared this withering 
malediction had already fallen on his precious volkamerias 
and cherished anemones. She ran to the wicket, which was 
still closed, and promptly climbed it, in order to follow 
Corilla^s conveyance toward the wretched wayside cabaret 
which the canon had dignified with the title of an inn. 


CHAPTER LXXX. 

Haydk, by this time accustomed to obey implicity the 
sudden resolutions of his friend, but endowed with a more 
calm and thoughtful temperament, rejoined her after hav- 
ing secured his traveling bag, his music, and, above all, 
his precious violin — his bread-winner, and the delight and 


C0N8UEL0. 


545 


comfort of his travels. Gorilla was laid on one of those 
wretched German beds, which are so short that the occu- 
pier must project outside either his feet or his head. Un- 
luckily there was not a woman on the spot, the mistress 
having set out on a pilgrimage to a shrine six leagues off, 
• and the female servant having gone to drive the cow to the 
pasture. An old man and a child looked after the house 
meanwhile; and, more frightened than satisfied at having 
to lodge their distinguished guest, they allowed their house- 
hold gods to be invaded, without thinking how they should 
turn it to account. The old man was deaf, and the child 
proceeded to seek the village midwife, who lived at least 
three miles off. The postilions were much more uneasy 
about their horses, who had nothing to eat, than about 
their charge, and the latter, left without any assistance 
but that of her femme-de-chambre, who was completely be- 
wildered, and made almost as much noise as her mistress, 
filled the air with her shrieks and lamentations. 

Consuelo, seized with, terror and pity, resolved not to 
abandon the unhappy creature. 

Joseph,” said she to her companion, ‘^return to the 
priory, even if you were to be badly received; we must not 
be proud when we are asking for others. Tell the canon to 
send linen, soup, some good wine, a mattress, a coverlet — 
in short, every thing necessary for a sick person. Speak 
mildly, but firmly; promise, if necessary, that we will re- 
turn and perform, provided he sends succor to this unfor- 
tunate woman.” 

Joseph set out, and poor Consuelo, half-hidden in the 
background, watched with pitying gaze this wretched wo- 
man without faith or feeling, who suffered with impreca- 
tions and outcries the sacred martyrdom of maternity. The 
chaste and pious girl shuddered on beholding tortures 
which nothing could allay, since in place of joy and hope, 
anger and displeasure consumed Corilla^s heart She never 
left off cursing her hard fate, her journey, the canon and 
his housekeeper, and even the child unborn. She heaped 
volumes of abuse on her servant, and rendered her incap- 
able of doing any thing. Leave my sight !” cried she, 
^‘you only irritate and annoy me!” 

Sophia, angry and wretched, left the house weeping, and 
Consuelo, left alone with the unfortunate creature, tried to 
comfort and soothe her. 


546 


CONSUELO. 


In a short time Sophia returned, and a quarter of an 
hour afterward the child saw the light. The maid snatched 
from a trunk the first garment that came to hand, which 
happened to be a theatrical mantle of faded satin, adorned 
with tinsel, and wrapping the infant in this strange swad- 
dling-cloth, placed it in Consuelo^s arms. 

Come, madam, be consoled,^^ said the poor waiting- 
woman, with an accent of simjDle and heartfelt kindness ; 

you are happily delivered, and you have a lovely little 
girl.^^ 

Girl or boy, I no longer suffer,” replied Gorilla, raising 
herself on her elbow; “give me a glass of wine.” 

Joseph had just brought some from the priory, and it 
was of the best. The canon had behaved generously, and 
the patient soon had a plenteous supply of all that her sit- 
uation required. Gorilla raised with a firm hand the silver 
goblet which was presented to her, and emptied it with the 
steadiness of a toper ; then, throwing herself back upon 
the canon’s comfortable cushiops, she immediately fell 
asleep with that carelessness which is the result of an iron 
frame and an unfeeling heart. During her slumber the 
child was properly clothed, and Consuelo went to the 
neighboring field for a ewe, which served as its first nurse. 
AVhen the mother woke she caused herself to be raised by 
Sophia, and having swallowed another glass of wine she 
seemed collecting her strength for some effort. Consuelo 
held the child toward her, expecting some expression 
of maternal tenderness, but Gorilla had a very different 
idea in her thoughts. She pitched her voice in ut major, 
and gravely went through a gamut of two octaves.' Then 
she clapped her hands and cried, “ Gorilla ! you 

have not lost a note of your voice I” And bursting into a 
shout of laughter, she embraced Sophia, and put upon her 
finger a diamond which she took from her own, saying, 
“ That is to console you for the insults I heaped upon you. 
Where is my little monkey ? Ah, Heavens !” cried she, 
looking at her child, “it is fair, it resembles him! So much 
the worse! Do not unpack so many trunks, Sophia. What 
are you thinking of? Do you imagine I wish to stay here 
all my life? Come, come, you are. foolish; you do not yet 
know what life is. To-morrow I mean to be on the road 
again. Ah! my little Zingara, you hold the baby just as if 
you were a woman. How much do you want for your care 


CONSUELO. 


547 


and your trouble? Do you know, Sophia, that I never was 
better nursed and tended ? So you are from Venice, my 
little friend? Did you ever hoar me sing?^^ 

Oonsuelo made no reply to these questions, and indeed 
her answers would not have been listened to. Gorilla hor- 
rified her. She committed the child to the care of the ser- 
vant, who had just entered, and who appeared a good crea- 
ture; then calling Joseph, she returned with him to the 
priory. 

“ I did not promise to the canon to bring you back,” 
said he, as they walked along. ‘‘He appeared ashamed of 
his conduct, though he affected much ease and cheerful- 
ness of manner. Notwithstanding his selfishness, he is 
not an ill-disposed man. He appeared really happy in . 
sending Gorilla all that could be useful to her.” 

“ There are some minds so frightfully hard and unfeel- 
ing,” replied Gonsuelo, “ that weak ones ought to cause us 
more pity than horror. I wish to make amends for my 
anger against the poor canon, and since Gorilla is not 
dead — since, to use the common phrase, both mother and 
child are as well as can be expected — since our canon has 
contributed to that result as much as he could without 
risking the possession of his dear benefice — I wish to 
thank him. Besides, I have reasons for remaining at the 
priory until after Gorman’s departure. To-morrow I will 
tell you what they are.” 

Bridget had gone to pay a visit to a neighboring farm- 
house, and Gonsuelo, who had expected to confront that 
griffin, was agreeably disappointed at being received by the 
gentle and prepossessing Andre. 

“ Gome along, my little friends,” cried he, leading the 
way to his master^s apartments ; “ the canon is dreadfully 
melancholy ; he hardly eat any thing at breakfast, and his 
noonday siesta was repeatedly interrupted. He has met 
with two great misfortunes to-day ; he has lost his most 
splendid volkameria, as well as the hope of hearing some 
good music. Happily you are returned, and one at least 
of his sufferings will be allayed.” 

“Does he mock his master or us?” said Gonsuelo to 
Joseph. 

“Both,” replied Haydn. “In case the canon be not in 
a pouting mood, we shall have some rare sport.” 

Far from finding fault, the canon received them with 


548 


C0N8UEL0. 


open arms. Consiielo made him admire and understand 
the admirable preludes of Bach ; and to complete his satis- 
faction, she sang her most beautiful songs, without trying 
to disguise her voice, and without troubling herself much 
whether he discovered her age and sex or not. The canon 
was determined to discover nothing, and to enjoy to the 
uttermost what he heard. He was passionately fond of 
music, and his transports seemed so sincere and heartfelt 
that Consuelo could not help being touched. 

^^Ah! my dear, good, noble child?” cried the worthy 
man, with tears in his eyes, ^^this is the happiest day of 
my life! But what is henceforth to become of me? No! 
I can never bear the loss of such an enjoyment. I shall 
be eaten up with weariness ; I can no longer take pleasure 
in music of my own performance. My soul is filled with 
an ideal which I never can attain, and which I shall regret 
forever. I shall no longer love any thing, not even my 
flowers.” 

You are very wrong to say so,” said Consuelo, for 
your flowers sing better than I do.” 

^MVhat say you? — my flowers sing! I never heard 
them.” 

That is because you never listened ; but I heard them 
this moiMiing. I heard their mystic melodies, and under- 
stood their meaning.” 

You are a strange child — a true cliild of genius!” ex- 
claimed the canon, stroking Consuelo’s brown locks with 
fatherly regard. ‘‘You wear the livery of poverty, while 
you should be borne aloft. in triumph. But who are you, 
tell me? Where have you learned what you know?” 

Nature — chance — were my teachers.” 

Ah! you deceive me,” said the canon, laughing good- 
humoredly; ‘^you are some relation of Farinelli or Cafa- 
relli. But listen, my children,” he added, with a serious 
yet cheerful air ; you must leave me no more. I shall 
take charge of you — remain with me. I have some means 
— they shall be yours. I shall be to you what Gravina 
was to Metastasio. It shall be my honor and my glory. 
Stay with me ; it will only be necessary for you to enter 
into secondary orders. You shall have a handsome bene- 
fice, and after my death you will inherit some pretty little 
savings, which I do not intend to leave to that harpy, 
Bridget.” 


G0N8UEL0. 


549 


As tlie canon spoke thus, the harpy herself entered sud- 
denly, and heard his last words. 

Choking with rage and tears, she exclaimed : And I, 
for my part, I do not intend to serve you any longer? It 
is a pretty thing to sacrifice my youth and my reputation 
to an ungrateful master!” 

‘^Your reputation? — your youth?” replied the canon, 
mockingly. ‘^Ah! you flatter yourself, my poor old 
woman! What you are pleased to term the one, protects 
the other.” 

Yes, yes,” said she ; ‘‘jest on, but prepare to see me 
no more. I leave a house where I can no longer preserve 
order or decency. I would prevent you from making a 
fool of yourself, from squandering your means, and degrad- 
ing your office ; but I perceive that it is all in vain. Your 
feeble character and your declining star impel you on to 
your ruin, and the first mountebanks that fall in your 
way, so turn your head that you are ready to sacrifice 
every thing to them. Well, well, the Canon Herbert has 
long wished me to enter his service, and offers me a bet- 
ter salary than you can afford. I am weary of all I see 
here. Pay me my wages — I will not pass another night 
under your roof.” 

“ Oh! is that the way?” said the canon, calmly. “ Well, 
then, Bridget, you do me a great favor, and I hope most 
fervently you will keep to your word. I have never dis- 
missed any one from my service, and I think, if the devil 
himself were in my employment, I would not put him out, 
such is my easy temper; but if he left me of his -own 
accord, I would wish him a good journey, and sing a mag- 
nificat at his departure. Make up your packages, Bridget ; 
and as to your wages, take them yourself — whatever you 
wish— all that I possess, if you will — so that you rid me of 
your presence quickly.” 

“Ah! reverend canon,” said Haydn, moved at this do- 
mestic scene, “you will regret an old domestic who seems 
warmly attached to you.” 

“ She is attached to my benefice,” replied the canon, 
“and I only regret her coffee.” 

“ You will accustom yourself to do without good coffee,” 
said the austere Consuelo, firmly, “ and you will do well. 
Hold your tongue, Joseph, and do not intercede for her. 
1 mean to speak openly before her, because it is the truth. 


550 


GONSUELO. 


She is ill-natured, and she is hurtful to her master. He is 
good; nature has made him noble and generous; but this 
woman renders him selfish. She stifies all the good im- 
pulses of his soul, and if he keeps her in his service he will 
become at last as hard and inhuman as herself. Pardon 
me, reverend canon, for thus addressing you. You have 
made me sing so much, and have so intoxicated me in dis- 
playing your own enthusiasm and delight, that I am hardly 
myself. If this be so, you are to blame ; but be assured 
that truth reigns supreme in such moments of enthusiasm, 
because they are noble in their nature and develop in us 
the loftiest qualities of our being. It is then that our 
heart is on our lips, and it is my- heart which now speaks 
to you. When I am calm, I shall be more respectful, but 
not more sincere. Believe me, I do not want your fortune. 
I have no desire for it, and no need. Did I wish for for- 
tune, I might have more than yon, and the life of an artist 
is subjected to so many risks, that you may possibly survive 
me. It would then be for me to inscribe your name in my 
will, in grateful recollection of what you have wished to 
do for me. To-morrow we shall leave this, most probably 
never to meet again ; but we shall leave you with hearts 
overflowing with joy, respect, and gratitude, if you get rid 
of this Madame Bridget, whose pardon I sincerely ask for 
thus thinking of her.^^ 

Consuelo spoke with so much fire, and the frankness of 
her disposition depicted itself so strongly on her features, 
that her words made an electric impression on the canon. 

Begone! Bridget,” said he, with a firm and dignified 
air, to his housekeeper. Truth speaks by the mouth of 
children, and this youth has a great soul. Begone! for you 
have this day made me do a base action, and you would 
make me do others, because I am weak and at times timid. 
Begone! because you make my life unhappy, and that is 
Hot necessary to your salvation. Begone !” he added, 
smiling, because you begin to scorch the coffee and sour 
the cream.” 

This last reproach touched Bridget more than all the 
rest, and her pride, wounded in the most sensitive point, 
closed her mouth completely. She rose, cast a look of 
pity — almost of scarn — on the canon, and left the apart- 
ment with a theatrical air. Two hours afterward, this de- 
throned queen left the priory, which she did not fail to 


OONSUELO. 


551 


pillage a little. The canon took no notice of it, and from 
the happiness that shone on his countenance, Haydn saw 
that Consuelo had rendered him a real service. After 
dinner, the latter, to prevent him from feeling any regret, 
made coffee for him after the Venetian fashion, which is 
by far the best in the world. Andre took lessons under 
her directions, and the canon declared that he had never 
tasted better coffee in his life. They had more music in 
the evening, first, however, sending to inquire for Gorilla, 
who, the messenger brought word, was already seated in 
the arm-chair which the canon had sent her. In the even- 
ing, which was one of the loveliest of the season, they took 
a long stroll through the garden by moonlight, during 
which the canon, leaning on Consuelo's arm, continually 
entreated her to enter into secondary orders, and to be to 
him as his adopted son. 

‘‘Take care,” said Joseph, when they were about to 
retire to their several apartments; “ this good canon is 
wonderfully taken with you.” 

“ Nothing ought to put one out when traveling,” replied 
she. “But do not be afraid, I shall not be an abbe any 
more than a trumpeter. Herr Mayer, Count Hoditz, and 
the canon, have all reckoned without their host.” 


CHAPTEK LXXXI. 

Nevertheless Consuelo bade good-evening to Joseph, 
and retired to her apartment, without giving him, as he 
expected, the signal for departure next morning at day- 
break. She had her own reasons for not hastening, and 
Joseph waited patiently until she should disclose them — 
enchanted meanwhile to spend a few hours with her in 
this lovely abode, and to lead for a short time longer tliis 
canonical and comfortable life, which by no means dis- 
pleased him. Consuelo slept until late next morning, and 
did not make her appearance till the canon^s second break- 
fast. The worthy ecclesiastic’s usual practice was to rise 
early, take a light pleasant repast, and stroll through his 
garden and inclosures (breviary in hand), to examine his 
plants, and afterward to take a second sleep pending the 
preparation of a more substantial breakfast. 

“ Our neighbor is getting on well this morning,” said he 


65^ 


COmUELO, 


to his yoiitig guests the moment they appeared. I have 
sent Andre to prepare her breakfast. She expresses much 
gratitude for your attentions, and as she proposes (very 
imprudently, I admit) to set out to-day for Vienna, she 
wishes to see you before she leaves, in order to recompense 
you in some measure for the kind and zealous assistance 
you gave her. Therefore breakfast quickly, my children, 
and go to her ; doubtless she has some handsome present 
for you.’^ 

‘‘ We shall breakfast as slowly as you choose, sir, re- 
plied Consuelo, ^^and we shall not go to see the sick 
woman. She has no longer occasion for our services, and 
we shall never accept her presents. 

Strange child!’’ said the astonished canon: your ro- 
mantic disinterestedness, your enthusiastic generosity, gain 
my heart so completely that never — no never — shall I be 
able to part with you!” 

Consuelo smiled, and they sat down to table. The repast 
was exquisite, and lasted fully two hours; but the desert 
was different from what the canon expected. 

Reverend sir,” said Andre, appearing at the door, 
‘^here is Bertha from the cabaret, bringing you a basket 
from the lady.” 

^‘^It is the silver things which I lent her,” said the canon; 
‘^take them from her Andre, that is your business. The 
lady is positively going, then?” 

^‘Reverend sir, she is gone.” 

Already! she is mad! she will kill herself outright!” 

No, sir,” said Consuelo; she will not kill herself, and 
she does not wish to kill herself.” 

‘^Well, Andre, why do you stand there with such an air 
of ceremony?” said the canon to his valet. 

‘'Reverend sir, Mother Bertha refuses to give me the 
basket; she says she will only give it to you, and that she 
has something to say to you.” 

“Nonsense! It is some scruple of the old woman’s 
about trusting you with the plate; however, let her come 
in and let us have done with it.” 

The old woman was introduced, and after many cour- 
tesies laid a large covered basket on the table. Consuelo 
immediately glanced at the contents while the canon’s 
head was turned toward Bertha, and then replacing the 
covering, she said in a low tone to Joseph: 


CONSUELO. 


653 


It is what I expected; and this is why I remained. 
Oht yes, I was sure that Gorilla would act thus.” 

Joseph, who had not had time to examine the contents 
of the basket, looked at his companion with astonishment. 

Well, Mother Bertha,” said the canon, ^^so you return 
the little things which I lent you? Ah! very good. It is 
quite unnecessary to examine them — I am sure they are all 
correct.” 

‘‘Reverend sir,” replied the old woman, “my servant 
has brought back every thing; I gave them to your officers. 
Nothing is wanting, and I am quite easy on that score. 
But this basket the lady made me swear I would give 
into your own hands; the contents you know as well as I 
do.” 

“May I be hanged if I do!” said the canon, advancing 
his hand carelessly toward the basket. 

But his hand was paralyzed as if with catalepsy, and his 
mouth remained half opened with surprise, when the cov- 
ering, moving apparently of itself, fell aside, and disclosed 
to view a rosy little hand, which seemed as if endeavoring 
to seize the canon’s finger. 

“Yes, reverend sir,” replied the old woman, with a con- 
fident and satisfied smile; “ there it is, safe and sound, 
the little darling; wide awake, and likely to do well.” 

The amazed canon could not utter a word; the old 
woman continued: 

“ You know you requested its mother to allow you to 
adopt and bring it up. The poor lady indeed found it 
somewhat hard to part with it; but we told her her baby 
could not be in better hands, and she recommended it to 
Providence in giving it to us to bring to you. ‘ Tell this 
Avorthy canon— this holy man,’ she exclaimed, as she got 
into her carriage, ‘ that I shall not long take advantage 
of his charitable zeal. I shall soon return for my daugh- 
ter, and pay whatever expenses he may incur. Since he is 
absolutely determined to procure a good nurse, be kind 
enough to hand him this purse, which I request he may 
divide between the nurse, and the little musician, if he be 
still there, who took such good care of me yesterday.’ As 
for myself, reverend sir, she has paid me well; I am quite 
content.” 

“ Ah! you are content, are you?” exclaimed the canon, 
with a tragi-comic air, “ I am delighted to hear it ! 


554 


CONSUELO. 


But be kind enough to take this purse and this infant 
away with you. Spend the money — rear the child — it is 
no concern of mine.^^ 

‘‘Bear the child? Oh, by no means, reverend sir! I 
am too old to take charge of a new-born babe; it would cry 
all night long, and my poor old man, although he be deaf, 
would not put up with that very well.” 

‘"'It seems that I must put up with it, then? Many 
thanks. Do you imagine that is likely?” 

“ Since your reverence asked it from its mother!” 

“ I beg? Who the deuce told you so?” 

“ Why, since your reverence wrote this morning ” 

write? Where is my letter, if you please? Who 
was the bearer of it?” 

“ Oh! faith, I did not see it, and even if I had, I could 
not have read it; but Mr. Andre came to heron the part of 
your reverence, and she told us that he had brought a letter 
from you. We are honest, unsuspecting people, and we 
believed it. Who would not?” 

“It is an abominable lie! some gipsy trick. You are 
concerned in the plot. Come, take this infant away — give 
it back to its mother — keep it — arrange it as you please — 
I wash my hands of the transaction! If yon want money, 
you shall have it. I never refuse charity, even to scoun- 
drels and impostors; it is the only way to get rid of them. 
But to take a baby into my house — many thanks! Be ofE 
out of my sight!” 

“As to taking the child,” replied the old woman, in a 
decided tone, “I positively will not — no offense to your 
reverence. I did not take charge of the child on my own 
account. I know how all these matters end. They dazzle 
you with a little gold at first, and promise you marvels for 
the future; and then you hear no more of it — the child 
remains with you for good and all. But such creatures 
never turn out well; they are idle and proud by nature. 
One does not know what to do with them. If boys, they 
turn out robbers; if girls, it is still worse. By my faith, 
no; neither the old man nor myself will have any thing to 
do with the child. We were told your reverence wanted it, 
and we believed it — that is all. There is the money; and 
now we are quits. As to being in the plot, we know noth- 
ing of those sorts of tricks; and I ask pardon of your rever- 
ence, but you must be jesting with us when you speak of 


CONSUELO, 


555 


such a thing. I must now return home. We have some 
pilgrims stopping with us, who are returning from their 
voto, and thirsty souls they are! Your reverence's humble 
servant." 

And the old woman made many curtseys and retired; 
then coming back: 

‘"I forgot one thing," said she; ''the child is to be 
called Angela, in Italian. Ah! by my faith, I forget the 
word." 

" Angiolina, Anzoleta ?" said Consuelo. 

" That's it, precisely," said the old woman, and, again 
saluting the canon, she calmly retired. 

" Well, what do you think of this trick ?" said the stu- 
pified canon, turning toward his guests. 

" I think it worthy of her who imagined it," replied 
Consuelo, taking the child, who began to be uneasy, from 
the basket, and gently making it swallow some spoonfuls 
of the milk which was left from breakfast, and which was 
still smoking in the canon's china ewer. 

" This Gorilla must be a heartless wretch, then !" 
resumed the canon; "do you know her ?" 

" Only by reputation; but now I know her thoroughly, 
and so do you, reverend sir." 

"It is an acquaintance I could very well have dispensed 
with. But what shall we do with this poor little deserted 
one ?" added he, casting a look of pity on the child. 

" I will carry it," replied Consuelo, " to your gardener's 
wife, whom I saw yesterday nur^ng a fine boy five or 
six months old." 

" Do so, then," said the canon, " or rather ring and let 
her be sent for to come here and receive it. She will be 
able to tell us of a nurse in some neighboring farm-house 
— not too near though — for God knows the injury that 
might be done to a man of the church, by the least mark 
of interest shown toward a child fallen thus from the 
clouds as it were into his house." 

"In your place, sir, I would raise myself above such 
paltry considerations. I would neither anticipate nor fear 
the absurd and malicious efforts of slander — I would dis- 
regard such foolish reports as if they did not exist. I 
would always act as if it were impossible they could affect 
or harm me. Of what use would be a life of innocence and 
dignity, if it did not secure us calmness of conscience and 


C0N8UEL0, 


fee 

the liberty of doing good? See ! this child is confided to 
you, reverend sir. If it suffers for want of care, far from 
your sight — if it languishes and dies — you will reproach 
yourself forever.'’^ 

What do you say? this infant confided to me ? Have 
I accepted the trust, and can the caprice or craftiness of 
another impose such duties upon us? You are excited, my 
child, and you reason falsely.'’^ 

No, my dear and reverend sir,” returned Consuelo, 
becoming more and more animated; do not reason 
falsely. The wicked mother who abandons her infant 
here, has no right and has no power to impose any duties 
upon you. But He who has the right to command you — 
He who decrees the destinies of the new-born babe — He to 
whom you will be eternally responsible — is God. Yes, it 
is God who has had especial views of mercy toward this 
innocent little creature, in inspiring its mother with the 
bold idea ,of intrusting it to you. It is He who by a 
strange concurrence of circumstances brings it into your 
house, and casts it into your arms in spite of your prud- 
ence. Ah ! sir, remember the example of St. Vincent 
de Paul, who went about collecting poor distressed orphans 
from the door-steps of houses, and do not reject this little 
one which Providence brings to your bosom. I do indeed 
believe that were you to do so, it would bring you misfor- 
tune; and the world, which has a kind of instinct of 
justice even in its wickedness, would say, with some 
appearance of truth, that you had good reasons for remov- 
ing it from you. Instead of which, if you keep it, no 
motives can be supposed other than the true ones — viz. 
your pity and your charity.” 

‘^You do not know,” said the canon — a good deal 
shaken, and undecided how to act — what the world is. 
You are a child, severe in rectitude and virtue. You do 
not know, especially, what the clergy are, and Bridget — the 
wicked Bridget — knew well what she said yesterday, when 
she asserted that certain people were jealous of my position 
and were striving to ruin me. I hold my benefices by the 
protection of the late Emperor Charles, who befriended 
me and was the means of my obtaining them. The Em- 
press Maria Theresa has also protected me, and permitted 
me to pass as jubilary before the usual age. Well ! what 
we imagine we bold from the Church is never positively 


C0N8UEL0, 


557 


assured to us. Above us, as well as above the sovereigns 
who favor us, we have always a master — the Church. As 
she declares us capable when she pleases, even when we are 
not so, she also declares us incapable when it suits her, 
even when we have rendered her the greatest services. 
The ordinary y that is to say, the diocesan bishop and his 
council, if they are unfriendly or irritated against us, can 
accuse us, bring us to their bar, judge us, and deprive us 
of our benefices — under pretext of misconduct, of irregu- 
larity of morals or scandalous examples — in order to con- 
fer upon their new creatures the gifts which they had for- 
merly granted us. Heaven is my witness that my life has 
been as pure as that of this child, born yesterday ! Well ! 
without extreme prudence in all my proceedings, my virtue 
would not have been sufficient to defend me from evil in- 
terpretations. I am not much of a courtier toward the 
prelates; my indolence, and perhaps a little pride of birth, 
have always prevented me. There are those in the chapter 
who envy me and 

But you have on your side Maria Theresa, who is a 
high-souled monarch, a noble woman, and tendeiymother,’^ 
returned Consuelo. ‘‘ If she were then to judge you, and 
you should say to her with that accent which truth alone pos- 
sesses, " Gracious queen, I hesitated an instant between the 
fear of placing weapons against me in the hands of my 
enemies, and the necessity of practicing the first virtue of 
my calling, charity — I saw on one side calumnies and 
intrigues, under which I might fall; on the other, a poor 
creature abandoned by Heaven and by men, who had no 
refuge but in my pity, no protection but in my care — and 
I chose to risk my reputation, my repose, and my fortune, 
to do the works of faith and mercy!’ Ah! I do not doubt 
if you spoke thus to Maria Theresa, that mighty princess, 
who is all-powerful, instead of a priory would give you a 
palace — instead of a canon would create you a bishop. 
Has she not overwhelmed the Abbe Metastasio with 
honors and riches for having made rhymes? AVhat would 
she not do for virtue, if she thus rewards talent? Come, 
dear and reverend sir, you will keep this poor Angiolina in 
your house; your gardener’s wife will nurse her, and after- 
ward you will educate her in religion and virtue. Her 
mother would have made her a fallen spirit fit for punish- 
ment, you will make her an angel for heaven!” 


558 


C0N8UEL0. 


You do with me as yon please/'’ said the canon, deeply 
touched, and allowing his favorite to place the child on his 
knees. Well, we will baptize Angela to-morrow, and 
you shall be godfather. If Bridget were still here, she 
would be godmother with you, and her rage at being 
selected for the office would amuse us. Ring and let the 
nurse be sent for, and may God’s will be done ! As to the 
purse which Gorilla left us — (ha! fifty Venetian sequins, I 
see!) — we will have nothing to do with it. I take upon 
myself the present expenses of the infant, and her future 
lot, if she be not claimed. Take this gold, therefore; it is 
indeed your due for the singular virtue and the noble 
spirit you have manifested in the whole affair!” 

Gold to pay for my virtue and the goodness of my 
heart?” cried Consuelo, rejecting the purse with disgust. 
^^And the gold of Gorilla! the price of falsehood! Ah! 
sir, it sullies even the sight ! Distribute it among the 
poor; that will bring good fortune to our poor Angela.” 


GHAPTER LXXXII. 


For the first time ii , the canon that 



night scarcely closed 


agitated by a 


strange emotion. Ilis brain was flooded with chords, 
melodies, and modulations, which a light slumber inter- 
rupted every instant, and which, in every interval of 
awakening, he strove, in spite of himself and even with a 
kind of vexation, to recall and connect, without being 
able to Succeed. He had retained by heart the most 
striking passages of the pieces which Gonsuelo had sung to 
him; he heard them still resounding in his brain — in liis 
heart; and then suddenly the thread of the musical idea 
was broken in his memory at the most beautiful place, and 
he recommenced it mentally a hundred times in succession, 
without being able to proceed a single note further. In 
'vain, fatigued by these imaginary melodies, did he try to 
drive them away; they returned always to haunt his ear, 
and it seemed to him that even the light of his fire danced, 
in time to the music, upon his curtains of crimson satin. 
The faint hissings which issued from the burning wood 
seemed also to be singing those cursed airs, the termin- 


CONSVELO. 


559 


ation of which remained ever an impenetrable secret to 
the canon’s fatigued imagination. If he could have only 
completed one, it seemed to him that he would have been 
delivered from this plague of faithless reminiscences. But 
the musical memory is so constituted, that it torments and 
persecutes us, until we have satisfied it with that for 
which it thirsted. 

Never had music made such an impression upon the 
canon, although he had been a distinguished dilettante all 
his life. Never had human voice so completely taken 
possession of his heart as that of Consuelo. Never had 
features and expression, never had language and manners, 
exercised upon his soul a fascination in the least to be com- 
•pared with that which Consuelo’s had exercised upon him 
during the last thirty-six hours! Did the canon guess, or 
did he not, the sex of the pretended Bertoni? Yes and no. 
How shall I explain this to you? You must know that 
at fifty the canon’s thoughts and habits were as pure and 
blameless as those of a child. His independent position 
had allowed him to cultivate friendship, tolerance, and the 
arts; but love was forbidden him, and he had banished 
love from his heart, as the most dangerous enemy of his 
repose and his fortune. /"Still, as love is of a divine origin, 
and immortal in its nature, when we believe we have an- 
nihilated it, we have done nothing more than bury it alive 
in our hearts. It may sleep there silently for long years, 
until the day when it is destined to be reanimated. Con- 
suelo appeared in the autumn of the canon’s life, and his 
long apathy of soul was changed at once into a tender 
languor, more profound and tenacious than could have 
been foreseen. That apathetic heart knew not how to 
bound and palpitate for a beloved object ; but it could 
melt as ice before the sun, give itself up to the abandon- 
ment of self, to patient submission, and that kind of 
passive self-denial which one is sometimes surprised to find 
in the most selfish, when love has taken possession of their 
hearts. 

He loved then, this poor canon; at fifty, he loved for 
the first time, and he loved one who could never respond to 
his love. He was only too sensible of this, and this was 
why he wished to persuade himself, in spite of all probabil- 
ity, that it was not love which he experienced, since it was 
not a woman who inspired it. 


560 


C0N8UEL0. 


In this respect he deceived himself completely, and in all 
the simplicity of his heart he took Oonsuelo for a boy. While 
performing canonical duties at the cathedral of Vienna, he 
had seen many young and handsome boys at the founda- 
tion; he had heard voices clear, silvery, and almost female 
in their purity and flexibility. True, Bertoni^s was purer 
and more flexible a thousand times, but it was an Italian 
voice, he thought, and then Bertoni was an exception to 
the usual routine of nature — one of those precocious chil- 
dren whose faculties, genius, and aptitude proclaim them 
prodigies. And, proud and enthusiastic at having dis- 
covered this treasure on the highway, the canon, giving 
way to the transports of a fatherly affection and benev- 
olent pride, already dreamed of making him known to the* 
world, of bringing him forward, and of contributing to 
his fortune and his future fame. 

No one would have imagined the existence of such simple- 
minded and romantic ideas in a man of the canon’s char- 
acter — satirical, jocular, and well acquainted with the 
usages of society, and the springs of human character. 
There was nevertheless a whole world of ideas, instincts, and 
feelings, formerly unknown, now thronging his breast. 
He had fallen asleep in the joy of his heart, planning a 
thousand projects for his young protege, promising himself 
that he would pass his life in the midst of a perfect atmos- 
phere of delicious music, and feeling his heart moved at 
the idea of cultivating, while he tempered them a little, 
the virtues which shone in that generous and ardent soul ; 
but awakened every hour of the night by a singular emo- 
tion, pursued by the image of that wonderful child — now 
affrighted at the idea of seeing him escape from his already 
jealous tenderness, now impatient for the morrow to reiter- 
ate seriously the offers, promises, and prayers which Bertoni 
had appeared to take in jest — the canon, astonished at 
what passed in his mind, lost himself in a thousand fanci- 
ful conjectures. ^MVas I then destined by nature to have 
children, and to love them passionately?” asked he with an 
honest simplicity, since the mere thought of adopting 
one throws me now into such a state of agitation ? Yet it 
is the first time in my life that this feeling has been re- 
vealed to my heart, and now, in a single day, admiration 
attaches me to one, sympathy to another, pity to a tliird ! 
Bertoni, Beppo, Angiolina! Here have I a family all of a 


CONSUELO. 


561 


sudden — I who pitied the trouble of parents, and who 
thanked God for being destined by my calling to solitude 
and repose. Can it be the quantity and excellence of the 
music I have heard to-day which so excites my ideas? It is 
rather that delicious Venetian coffee, of which I took two 
cups instead of one, out of pure gluttony! My brain has 
been so excited all day, that I have hardly once thought of 
my volkameria, withered from the effects of Peter’s care- 
lessness! 

‘ 11 mio cor si divide ’ 

^^Ah! there again that cursed phrase recurs to me! 
plague take my memory! — What shall I do in order to 
sleep? — Four o’clock in the morning — it is unheard of! — I 
shall make myself ill!” 

A bright idea came at last to the rescue of the good 
canon; he rose, took his writing-desk, and resolved to set 
to work on that famous book, so long since undertaken, 
but not yet begun. He was obliged, however, to consult 
the dictionary of canonical law, in order to refresh his 
memory on the subject, but he had not read two pages be- 
fore his ideas became confused, his eyes closed, the book 
slid gently down from the eider-down cushion to the floor, 
the taper was extinguished by a sleepy sigh, and the worthy 
canon at last slept the sleep of the just until ten o’clock 
next morning. 

Alas! how bitter was his awakening, when with a nerve- 
less and careless hand he opened the following note, depos- 
ited by Andre upon the taper-stand along with his cup of 
chocolate! 

“ We depart, reverend and dear sir; an, imperious duty calls us to 
Vienna, and we feared lest we miglit not be able to resist your gen- 
erous entreaties. We fly as if we were ungrateful; but we are not 
so, and never shall we lose the recollection of your hospitality toward 
us, and of your noble and Christian charity for the deserted infant. 
We shall come back to thank you for it. Before a week you will see 
us again ; please defer till then the baptism of Angela, and depend 
upon the respectful and tender affection of your humble proteges, 

“Bertoni, Beppo.” 

The canon turned pale, sighed, and rang his bell. Then 
they have gone?” said he to Andre. 

“ Before daybreak, your reverence.” 

And what did they say on departing? I hope they 


562 


C0N8UEL0, 


breakfasted, at least? Did they mention the day on which 
they would return ?^^ 

Nobody saw them go, sir. They went as they came, 
over the wall. When I awoke, I found their chambers 
empty; the note which you hold in your hand was on their 
table, and all the doors of the house and inclosure were 
locked as I left them last night. They have not taken the 
value of a pin, they have not plucked even an apple, poor 
children 

can readily believe it!” cried the canon, his eyes 
filling with tears. To dissipate his melancholy, Andre 
tried to induce him to consult the bill of fare and order 
dinner. ^^Give me what you please, Andre!” replied the 
canon in a heartrending voice, and fell back moaning on 
the pillow. 

On the evening of the same day Consuelo and Joseph 
entered Vienna under cover of the darkness. The honest 
hairdresser, Keller, was admitted to their confidence, 
received them with open arms, and lodged his distin- 
guished guest as well as his circumstances would permit. 
Consuelo was all amiability toward Josephus betrothed, al- 
though secretly disappointed at finding her neither grace- 
ful nor handsome. On the morrow, Keller braided Con- 
suelo’s fiowing tresses, and his daughter assisted her to re- 
sume the garments of her sex, and served her as a guide 
to PorpoiVs dwelling. 


CHAPTER LXXXIII. 

To THE joy which Consuelo experienced on once more 
pressing in her arms her master and benefactor, succeeded 
a painful feeling which she had some difficulty in conceal- 
ing. A year had scarcely elapsed since she left Porpora, 
and yet that year of uncertainty, vexation, and sorrow, 
had imprinted on the gloomy brow of the maestro deep 
traces of suffering and old age. He had acquired that un- 
healthy embonpoint which inaction and languor of mind 
produce on a failing frame. His look had lost the fire 
which formerly animated it, and a certain bloated coloring 
of his features betrayed the fatal attempt to seek in wine 
the forgetfulness of his misfortunes, or the renewal of his 
inspiration, chilled by age and discouragement. The un- 


CONSUELO. 


563 


fortunate composer had flattered himself that he should 
find at Vienna fresh chances of success and fortune; but 
he was received there with cold esteem, and he found his 
liappier rivals in possession of the imperial favor and the 
admiration of the public. Metastasio had written dramas 
and oratorios for Oaldara, for Predieri, for Fuchs, for 
Keuter, and for Hasse ; Metastasio, the court poet {poeto 
Cesareo), the fashionable author, the Qieio Albano, the 
favorite of the muses and the ladies, the charming, the in- 
comparable, the harmonious, the flowing, the divine Me- 
tastasio — in a word, he, of all the dramatic cooks, whose 
dishes had the most agreeable flavor and easiest digestion 
— had not written any thing for Porpora, and had refused 
to promise him any thing. The maestro had still ideas 
perhaps; he had at least his science, his admirable knowl- 
edge of the voice, his sound Neapolitan traditions, his se- 
vere taste, his broad style, and his bold and masculine re- 
citatives, the grandeur and beauty of which had never been 
equaled. But he had no public, and he asked in vain for 
a poem. He was neither a flatterer nor an intriguer; his 
rough frankness created him enemies, and his ill-humor 
repulsed every body. He displayed this feeling even in the 
warm and affectionate welcome which he gave Oonsuelo. 

^^And wherefore did you leave Bohemia so sooii?^’ said 
he, after having embraced her with paternal emotion. 

What are you going to do here, unhappy girl? There 
are no ears to listen, no hearts to comprehend you ; this 
is no place for you, my child. Your old master has fallen 
into disgrace, and if you wish to succeed, you would do 
well to follow the example of those who feign to despise or 
not to know him, while they owe to him their skill, their 
fortune, and their glory.” 

What! do you suspect me too?” said Consuelo, whose 
eyes filled with* tears. Would you deny my affection and 
devotion, and visit upon me the suspicion and contempt 
with which others have inspired you? Oh ! my dear 
master, you will find that I do not deserve this cruel re- 
proach; it is all I can say.” 

Porpora knit his brow, turned away, and walked up and 
down the apartment. Then returning to Consuelo, and 
seeing that she wept, but not finding any thing mild or 
gentle to say to her, he took the handkerchief from her 
hands, and drying her eyes somewhat roughly, said : 


564 


CONSUELO. 


Come ! come ! now.” Consuelo observed that he was 
pale, and that deep sighs burst from his ample chest; but 
he suppressed his emotion, and drawing his chair beside 
her: 

^‘Come!” said he, tell me about your sojourn in Bo- 
hemia, and wherefore you have returned so quickly. 
Speak!” he added, somewhat impatiently; have you not 
a thousand things to say to me? Were you weary there,, or 
did the Eudolstadts not act well by you? Yes, they also 
are capable of having wounded and tormented you! God 
knows they were the only people in the world whom I still 
trusted. God also knows that all men are capable of every 
wickedness!” 

Do not say so, my friend,” said Consuelo ; the Ru- 
dolstadts are angels, and I ought never to speak of them 
but on my knees. But I thought it right to leave them, 
and to fly without even giving them warning or bidding 
them adieu.” 

What does all this mean? Have you aught to reproach 
yourself with? Must I blush for you, and reproach myself 
for having sent you to these excellent people?” 

Ah! no; Heaven be praised, my dear- master! I have 
no reason to blame myself, nor you to blush for me.” 

In that case, what is it?” 

Consuelo, who knew how necessary it was to give brief 
and prompt replies to Porpora when he was anxious to 
learn a fact or an idea, informed him in a few words that 
Count Albert had wished to marry her, but that she could 
not give him a decided answer before consulting her adop- 
tive father. 

Porpora made an angry and sarcastic grimace. 

Count Albert!” he exclaimed, the heir of the Rudol- 
stadts, the descendant of the kings of Bohemia, the future 
lord of Riesenburg? He wants to marry you, you little 
gipsy ! You, the ugly pupil of the scnola,_ the friendless 
orphan, the penniless actress ! You who, barefoot, have 
begged your bread in the thoroughfares of Venice?” 

‘'Yes, even me, your pupil, your adopted daughter — 
yes, me, the Porporina !” replied Consuelo, with gentle 
pride. 

“ An honorable distinction and most brilliant condi- 
tion!” said the maestro, bitterl}^ “ Yes, I had forgotten 
those in the catalogue! The last and only pupil of a 


OOmVELO. 


565 


master without a school! The heiress of his rags and of his 
shame! The preserver of a name already blotted out from 
the memory of men. Yes, this is indeed something to be 
proud of — something to fascinate and bewilder the scions 
of the most illustrious families!” 

Apparently, my dear master,” said Consuelo, with a 
melancholy and caressing smile, ‘^we have not fallen so 
low in the estimation of the world as it pleases you to 
imagine, since it is certain that the count wished to marry 
me, and that I came here to ask your consent to the 
marriage, or your assistance and advice to enable me to 
avoid it.” 

Consuelo,” replied Porpora, in a cold and severe 
tone, I like not such folly. You ought to be aware that 
I hate the romances of school-girls or the adventures of 
coquettes. I should never have believed you capable of 
entertaining such absurd ideas, and I am really ashamed 
to hear you speak of them. It is possible that the young 
Count of Eudolstadt may have take a fancy to you, and 
that wearied by the tedium of solitude, or carried away by 
his enthusiasm for music, he may have paid you some 
trifling attention. But how could you be so presumptuous 
as to take the affair seriously, and give yourself on the 
strength of it the airs of a heroine of romance? I can 
feel only pity for such conduct, and still more so, if the 
old count, the canoness, or the Baroness Amelia should be 
informed of your pretensions! I tell you again that I 
blush for you!” 

Consuelo knew that it would be of no avail to contradict 
or interrupt Porpora when he had launched out into one 
of his splenetic tirades. She therefore allowed him full 
scope to vent his indignation; and when he had said every 
thing that he could think was most calculated to vex and 
annoy her, she related to him word for word, with the 
most scrupulous exactness, all that had taken place at the 
Castle of the Giants between herself. Count Albert, Count 
Christian, the canoness, Amelia, and Anzoleto. Porpora, 
who, after having vented all his spleen, knew also how to 
listen and to understand, lent the most serious attention 
to her narrative, and when she had flnished, put several 
questions to her respecting details, so as to enter completely 
into the private life and the sentiments of the family. 
“In that case,” said he at last, “you have acted well; 


566 


CONSnELO. 


Consuelo. You have been prudent, straightforward, cour- 
ageous, as I would have expected you to be. It is well; 
Heaven has protected you, and will recompense you by 
delivering you once for all from this infamous Anzoleto. 
As for the young count, you must not think of him; I 
positively forbid you. Such a union does not suit you. Never 
would Count Christian, be assured, permit you to become 
an artist again. I know better than you the unconquer- 
able pride of the nobles. Unless you absurdly and child- 
ishly deceive yourself, you cannot hesitate for an instant 
between the career of the great and that of art. What 
think you? Speak! Corpo di Bacco! one would think you 
did not hear me!” 

hear you very well, my dear master; but I see that 
you do not in the least understand what I have said to 
you.” 

^^How? Not understand? Then I am no longer capa- 
ble of understanding any thing, I suppose? Is that what 
you mean?” And the little Jet-black eyes of the master 
sparkled with anger. Consuelo, who knew him thor- 
oughly, saw that she must put a bold face on the matter, 
if she wished to be heard at all. 

‘‘ Sir, you do not understand me,” she replied firmly; 
'^for you ascribe to me an ambition very different from 
that which I entertain. Be assured I do not envy the posi- 
tion of the great, and do not imagine, dear master, that 
any such considerations weighed with me for a moment. 
I despise those worldly advantages which are not the result 
of merit. These are the principles which you have instilled 
into me, and I shall never belie them. But there is in life 
something besides vanity and gold, and this something will 
always suffice to counterbalance the intoxication of glory 
and Joys of public applause. It is the affection of such a 
man as Albert — it is domestic happiness — -it is family Joys! 
The public is a capricious, tyrannical, and ungrateful 
master, but a good husband is a friend, a support, a 
second self. If ever I love Albert as he loves me, I should 
think of fame no more, and probably should be much 
happier.” 

‘‘ What sort of babble is this?” exclaimed the maestro; 
^‘are you mad? or have you merely been initiated into the 
mysteries of German sentimentalism? Good Heavens! 
how much you have come to despise art of late, my lady 


CONSUELO. 


567 


countess! Yon tell me that your Albert, as you permit 
yourself to call him, inspires you with more fear that love; 
that you feel ready to expire with cold and terror at his 
side, and a thousand other things which — no olfense to 
you — I did not pay much attention to; and now, free 
from his solicitations and completely at liberty — the only 
happiness, the only condition necessary to the develop- 
ment of the artist — you ask me if you must not again tie 
the stone about your neck and throw yourself into the well 
which your visionary lover inhabits! Go, in Heaven’s 
name! if it seems good to you. I shall have nothing more 
to do with you; nothing more to say in the matter. I 
shall not lose my time talking to a person who does not 
know what she says, nor whom she wants. You have not 
common sense. I am your obedient humble servant.” 

• Thus saying, Porpora proceeded to the harpsichord, and 
with a firm yet cold hand improvised several elaborate 
modulations, during which Consuelo, despairing of bring- 
ing him to examine the matter more closely, reflected on 
the best means of restoring his equanimity. She accom- 
plished her purpose in singing some ancient national airs 
which she had learned in Bohemia, and which from their 
originality and . genius delighted the old maestro. She 
then induced him to show her his recent compositions, 
and she sang them at sight with such perfection that he 
instantly regained all his enthusiasm and all his tenderness 
for her. The unhappy man having no longer an able pupil 
beside him, and distrusting all who approached him, had 
long ceased to enjoy the pleasure of hearing his ideas ren- 
dered by a fine voice, and understood by a lofty intellect. 
He was so moved by hearing himself thus rendered by his 
own docile Porporina, that he shed tears of joy, and press- 
ing her to his bosom, he exclaimed: 

Ah! you are the first singer in the world! Your voice 
has doubled in volume and extent, and you have made as 
much progress as if I had given you lessons every day for 
a year. Repeat this theme once more, my daughter. 
This is the first moment of happiness I have enjoyed for 
months!” 

They dined together, poorly enough, at a little table 
near the window. Porpora was badly lodged, his gloomy 
and neglected chamber looking out upon the angle of a 
narrow and deserted street. Consuelo seeing him in a 


568 


COmUELO. 


good tern per ventured to speak of Joseph Haydn. The 
only thing she had concealed from him was the long pedes- 
trian excursion with this youth, and the strange occur- 
rences which had created so close an intimacy between 
them. She knew that her master would according to cus- 
tom rebel at praises given to any aspirant after fame. She 
therefore related with an air of indifference, that she had 
met on her way to Vienna with a poor little fellow who 
had spoken with such respect and enthusiasm of the school 
of Porpora, that she had promised to intercede in his be- 
half with the maestro herself. 

Well, what is he, this young man?” asked the maestro, 
‘'and what is his aim in life? To become an artist, 
without doubt, since he is a poor devil! Oh! I thank him 
for his patronage! I mean to teach singing henceforth 
only to young noblemen. They pay, learn nothing, atui 
are proud of our lessons, because they flatter themselves 
they know something on leaving our hands. But artists? 
all mean, all ungrateful, all traitors and liars! Do not 
speak to me of them. I never wish to see one pass the 
threshold of this apartment. If one of them should show 
his face here, look you, I would throw him from the win- 
dow that very instant!” 

Consuelo endeavored to overcome his prejudices, but she 
found him so obstinate that she gave up the attempt, and 
leaning from the window, at a moment when her master 
had his back turned, she made one sign with her fingers, 
and afterwards a second, to Joseph, who was prowling 
about the street awaiting this previously arranged signal, 
and who understood from the first movement of the fingers 
that he must renounce all hope of being admitted by Por- 
pora as a pupil, while the second gave him notice not to 
appear for half an hour. 

Consuelo talked of something else to make Porpora for- 
get what she had just said, and when the half-hour had 
elapsed, Joseph knocked at the door. Consuelo hastened 
to open it, pretended not to know him, and returned to 
announce to the maestro that it was a domestic who wished 
to enter his service. 

“ Let me see your face!” cried Porpora to the trembling 
young man ; “approach! who told you that I wanted a 
servant? I do not want one.” 

“ If you have no need of a servant,” answered Joseph, 


GONSUELO. 


569 


a little confused, but keeping a good countenance as Con- 
suelo had recommended, is very unfortunate forme, 
sir, for I have great need of a master/^ 

‘‘ One would imagine that nobody but I could give you 
the means of earning your livelihood,” replied Porpora. 
'^Here! look at my apartment and my furniture ; do you 
think I require a lackey to arrange all that?” 

^^Oh! certainly, sir, you must require one,” returned 
Haydn, atfecting a confiding simplicity ; for it is in very 
bad order.” 

Saying so, he went immediately to work, and began to 
arrange the chamber with a diligence and business-like 
coolness which highly amused Porpora. Joseph staked all 
upon the hazard ; for if his zeal had not diverted the 
maestro, he ran the risk of being recompensed for his ser- 
vices by a few blows of his cane. ‘‘ This is a droll rascal, 
who wishes to serve me in spite of myself,” said Porpora, 
as he watched his proceedings. I tell you, idiot, I have 
no means of paying a servant. Why will you continue to 
be so zealous?” 

No matter for that, sir ; provided you give me your 
old clothes and a bit of bread every day, I shall be satis- 
fied. I am so poor that I should consider myself fortunate 
not to be obliged to beg my bread.” 

^^But why do you not enter some rich personas service?” 

^‘Impossible, sir; they consider me too little and too 
ugly. Besides, I know nothing of music ; and you are 
aware that all the great lords nowadays wish their 
domestics to know a little of the violin or the fiute, in 
order to take a part in chamber concerts. But, for my 
part, I have never been able to beat a note of music into 
my head.” 

“Ah! you know nothing of music? Well, you are the 
very man to suit me. If you are satisfied with your food 
and my old clothes, I will take you ; for, now I think of 
it, here is my daughter who will require a faithful lad to 
run her errands. Let us see! What can you do? Brush 
clothes, black shoes, sweep the house, open and shut the 
door?” 

“ Yes, sir, I know how to do all that.” 

“ Well, begin. Brush that coat which you see lying on 
my bed yonder, for I am going in an hour to the ambas- 
sador’s, You will accompany me, Consuelo. I wish to 


570 


C0N8UEL0. 


present you to Signor Corner, whom you know already, 
and who has just arrived from the Baths of Ems with the 
signora. There is- a little apartment below which shall be 
yours ; go and arrange your dress a little, while I also 
make some preparations.^^ ^ 

Consuelo obeyed, crossed the ante-chamber, and enter- 
ing the Ijttle gloomy cabinet which was to be her apart- 
ment, dressed herself in her eternal black gown and her 
faithful white neckerchief, which had made the journey 
on Joseph’s shoulder. “ This is not a very magnificent 
toilette for the ambassador’s,” thought she ; but they 
saw me make my debut thus at Venice, and it did not pre- 
vent my singing well, and being listened to with pleasure. 

When she was ready, she again passed into the ante- 
chamber, and there found Haydn gravely curling Porpora’s 
wig, which he had hung upon a stick. On looking at each 
other, they both stifled a burst of laughter. ‘‘Ha! how 
do you manage to arrange that beautiful wig?” said she to 
him in a low voice, so as not to be heard by Porpora, who 
was dressing in the next chamber. 

“ Bah I” replied Joseph, “ it is easy enough. I have 
often seen Keller at work! And besides, he gave me a 
lesson this morning, and will give me more, so that in time. 
I may reach the perfection of the lisse and the crepe.” 

“Take courage! my poor lad,” said Consuelo, clasping 
his hand; “the maestro will at last be disarmed. The 
paths of art are strewed with thorns, but from among 
them you may pluck the fairest flowers!” 

“ Thanks for the metaphor, dear sister Consuelo. Be 
sure that I shall not be discouraged; and if, in passing me 
on the stairs or in the kitchen, you will say a word or two 
of encouragement and friendship to me from time to time, 
I shall bear all with pleasure.” 

“And I will assist you to fulfill your duties,” replied 
Consuelo, smiling. “ Do you imagine that I also did not 
commence like you? When I was little, I was often Por- 
pora’s servant. I have more than once run his errands, 
made his chocolate, and ironed his bands. Here now to 
begin, I will show you how to brush this coat, for you 
know nothing about it; you break the buttons and spoil 
the facing.” And she took the brush from his hands, and 
set him an example -with address and dexterity ; but, 
hearing Porpora approach, she hastily banded the brush 


COmUELO. 


571 


to him, and resumed a grave air as she said, Come, come! 
my little fellow, make haste!” 


CHAPTER LXXXIV. 

It was not to the embassy of Venice, but to the ambas- 
sador’s private residence, that Porpora conducted Consuelo. 
Wilhelmina, who did the honors, of the mansion, was a 
beautiful creature, infatuated with music, and whose whole 
pleasure and ambition was to assemble at her house those 
artists and dilettanti whom she could attract there, without 
compromising by too much ostentation the diplomatic 
dignity of Signor Corner. At the appearance of Consuelo, 
there was at first a moment of surprise and doubt, then a 
cry of joy and cordiality, as soon as the company ascer- 
tained that it was indeed the zingarella who had made such 
a sensation the preceding year at San Samuel. Wilhelmina, 
who had seen her, when quite a child, trotting to her house 
behind Porpora, carrying his music and following him like 
a little dog, had cooled considerably toward her on seeing 
her afterward receive so much applause and homage in the 
saloons of the nobility, and so many wreaths upon the 
stage. It was not that this handsome creature was ill- 
natured, or that she deigned to be jealous of a girl so long 
considered frightfully ugly. But Wilhelmina liked to play 
the great lady, as all those do who are not so. She had 
sung ^rand pieces with Porpora (who, treating her as an 
amateur, had let her try every thing), while poor Consuelo 
was still studying that famous little manuscript in which 
the master had concentrated all his method, and to which 
he kept his real pupils for five or six years. Wilhelmina 
did not imagine therefore that she could feel for the 
zingarella any other sentiment than that of a charitable 
interest. But because she had formerly given her some 
sugar-plums, or put into her hands a picture-book to pre- 
vent her being wearied when waiting in her ante-chamber, 
she concluded that she had been one of the most efficient 
patronesses o.f the youthful songstress. She had therefore 
considered it very extraordinary and improper that 
Consuelo, having reached at one bound the highest pin- 
nacle of triumph, had not shown herself humble, zealous, 


yjONSUELO, 


572 

and grateful toward her. She had expected that whenever 
she happened to have a select and recherche party, Con- 
suelo would graciously and gratuitously provide the enter- 
tainment of the evening, by singing for her, and with her, 
as often and as long as she desired, and that she could 
present her to her friends with all the 'prestige of having 
been mainly instrumental to her success, and having 
almost formed her taste for music. Matters had happened 
otherwise. Porpora, who had much more at heart the 
raising of his pupil Consuelo to the rank which belonged 
to her in the hierarchy of art, than that of pleasing his 
protectress Wilhelmina, laughed in his sleeve at the preten- 
sions of the latter, and forbade Consuelo to accept the 
invitations — at first rather too familiar, afterward rather 
too imperious — of madam the ambassadress of the left hand. 
He found a thousand pretexts to excuse himself from 
taking her there; and Wilhelmina had thereupon taken a 
strange dislike to the debutante, even going so far as to 
say that she was not handsome enough ever to have undis- 
puted success; that her voice, agreeable indeed in a saloon, 
wanted power and effect in the theater; that she did not 
fulfil upon the stage all the promise of her childhood; and. 
a thousand other malicious remarks of the same kind, 
known in ever.y age and country. But the enthusiastic 
clamor of the public soon smothered these little insinu- 
ations, and Wilhelmina, wha piqued herself on being a 
good judge, a scientific pupil of Porpora, and a generous 
soul, did not venture to pursue this underhand war against 
the maestro’s most brilliant pupil and the idol of the 
public. She joined her voice to those of the true dilettanti 
to exalt Consuelo, and if she still slandered her a little for 
the pride and ambition she had shown in not placing her 
voice at the disposal of madam the ambassadress, it was in 
a very low voice, and only to a very few particular friends 
that she thus blamed her. 

On this occasion, when she saw Consuelo appear in 
her modest toilet of former days, and when Porpora 
presented her officially, which he had never done before, 
Wilhelmina, vain and frivolous as she was, forgave all, 
and took credit to herself for acting a great and generous 
part, as she kissed the zingarella on both cheeks. She 
is ruined,” thought she ; ‘‘she has committed some folly, 
or lost her voice perhaps ; for we have heard nothing of 


C0N8UEL0, 


573 


her for a long while. She returns to us unconditionally. 
Now is the proper moment to pity her, to protect her, and 
to put her talents to the proof, or to use them for my own 
profit.” 

Consuelo had so gentle and conciliating an air, that 
Wilhelmina, not finding in her that tone of haughty pros- 
perity which she supposed her to have assumed at Venice, 
felt herself quite at ease with her, and paid her marked 
attention. Some Italians, friends of the ambassador, who 
were present, united with her in overwhelming Consuelo 
with praises and questions, which she succeeded in eluding 
with address and cheerfulness. But suddenly her counte- 
nance became grave, and even displayed symptoms of emo- 
tion, when, in the midst of a group of Germans who were 
gazing curiously at her from the extremity of the saloon, 
she recognized a face which had already troubled her else- 
where — that of the unknown friend of the canon, who 
had so minutely examined and questioned her, three days 
before, at the curate^s of the village in which she had sung 
the mass with Joseph Haydn. This unknown person 
again examined her with extreme curiosity, and it was 
easy to see that he was questioning his neighbors respect- 
ing her. Wilhelmina remarked Consuelo’s absence of 
mind. You are looking at Mr. Holzbaiier?” said she. 
^^Do you know him?” 

^‘1 do not know him,” replied Consuelo, and I am ig- 
norant if it be he whom I am looking at.” 

^^Heisthe first to the right of the mantelpiece,” re- 
turned the ambassadress. “ He is at present the director 
of the court theater, where his wife is prima donna. He 
abuses his position,” added she, in a low voice, ‘Mn order 
to favor the court and city with his operas, which, between 
ourselves, are good for nothing. Do you wish me to intro- 
duce you to him? He is a very agreeable man.” 

thousand thanks, signora,” replied Consuelo; I am 
of too little consequence here to be presented to such a 
personage, and I am certain beforehand that he will not 
engage me for his theater.” 

'^And why so, sweet one ? Can that beautiful voice, 
which had not its equal in all Italy, have suffered by your 
residence in Bohemia? For you have lived all this time 
in Bohemia, they say — the coldest and dullest country in 
the world! Such a climate must be very hurtful to the 


574 


CONSUELO, 


voice and I am not astonished that you have experienced 
its bad effects. But that is nothing ; you will soon re- 
cover your voice in our lovely Venetian clime. 

Oonsuelo, seeing that Wilhelmina was determined to 
consider her voice as deteriorated, abstained from contra- 
dicting this opinion, especially as her companion furnished 
both question and answer. She was not agitated at this 
charitable supposition, but at the antipathy she had a 
right to expect from Holzbauer, in consequence of the 
somewhat rude and rather too sincere answer respecting 
his music, which had escaped her at the breakfast in the 
presbytery. The court maestro would not fail to revenge 
himself by relating in what costume and in what company 
he had met her on the road ; and Consuelo feared that if 
this adventure should reach Porpora's ears, it might preju- 
dice him against her, and especially against poor Joseph. 

It happened otherwise. Holzbauer said not a word of 
the adventure, for reasons which will be known hereafter ; 
and far from showing the least animosity toward Con- 
suelo, he approached her with a good humored, though 
arch and meaning smile. She pretended not to under- 
stand it. She feared even to seem to request his secrecy in 
the matter, and whatever might be the consequences of 
this meeting she was too proud not to brave them firmly. 
Her attention was distracted from this incident by the 
countenance of an old man, who had a hard and haughty 
expression, but who nevertheless evinced a strong desire to 
engage in conversation with Porpora ; but the latter, faith- 
ful to his crusty humor, hardly answered him, and every 
moment made an effort, or sought a pretext to get rid of 
him. That,” said Wilhelmina, who was not displeased 
to point out to Oonsuelo the celebrities who adorned her 
saloon, is an illustrious composer, Buononcini. He has 
just arrived from Paris, where he himself played the vio- 
loncello in an anthem of his own composition before the 
king. You know that it is he who excited such enthusi- 
asm in London, and who, after an obstinate contest of 
theater and theater with Handel, ended by vanquishing 
the latter in the opera.” 

Do not say so, signora,” said Porpora, who had just 
disengaged’ himself from Buononcini, and approaching the 
two ladies, had heard Wilhelrnina’s last words; "‘oli! do 
not utter such a slander! No one has surpassed Handel — 


C0N8UEL0. 


575 


no one ever will surpass him. I know Handel ; you do 
not yet know him. He is the first among us, and I con- 
fess it frankly, although I was foolish enough to struggle 
against him in my youth ; I was crushed as I ought to 
have been, and it was right. Buononcini, more fortunate, 
but not more modest or skillful than myself, triumphed in 
the eyes and ears of fools and barbarians. Do not believe 
those who tell you of this triumph ; it will be the eternal 
disgrace of my associate Buononcini, and England will one 
day blush for having preferred his works to those of a 
genius — what do I say? — of a giant, such as Handel. The 
mode — the fashion, as they say there — bad taste, the skill- 
ful arrangement of the theater, a clique, intrigues, and, 
more than all, the wonderful talent of the singers whom 
Buononcini brought to his aid, apparently gained the day. 
But Handel has had his revenge in sacred music. As to 
Buononcini himself, I do not place great store by him. I 
am not fond of jugglers ; and Buononcini has juggled in 
the opera just as much as in the cantata.^^ 

Porpora alluded to a shameful theft wuich had put all 
the musical world in commotion; Buononcini having taken 
to himself in England the credit of a piece which Lotti 
had composed thirty years before, and which the latter had 
succeeded in triumphantly proving his own, after a long 
dispute with the audacious maestro. Wilhelmina endeav- 
ored to defend Buononcini, and this contradiction excited 
Porpora’s spleen still more. 

I tell yoU; and I will maintain it,^’ he exclaimed, with 
out caring whether Biiononcina heard him or not, ^^that 
Handel is superior, even in the opera, to all composers 
past or present. I shall prove it to you directly. Con- 
suelo, seat yourself at the harpsichord, and sing the air I 
shall point out.” 

am dying to hear the wonderful Porporina,” ex- 
claimed Wilhelmina ; but I entreat that she may not 
make her debut here in presence of Buononcini and Holz- 
baiier, by singing any thing of HandeFs. They would not 
be flattered by such a selection.” 

I believe it well,” said Porpora. It is their condem- 
nation, their death-warrant.” 

Well, in that case,” replied she, let her sing some- 
thing of your own, maestro.” 

‘‘You are aware, doubtless, that that would excite no 


576 


GONSUELO. 


one^s jealousy; but for my part, 1 wish that she should 
sing from Handel. I will have it so I” 

‘‘ Do not ask me to sing to-day, master,^^ said Consuelo; 

have just arrived from a long journey.” 

Certainly it would be imposing on her good nature,” 
said Wilhelmina, ‘^and for my part I do not press her to 
sing. In presence of the judges who are here, and Holz- 
baiier in particular, who has the direction of the imperial 
theater, you must not compromise your pupil. Look you 
to it !” 

‘^Compromise her? What are you dreaming of ?” said 
Porpora, bluntly, shrugging his shoulders; “ I heard her 
this morning, and I know whether she runs any risk be- 
fore you Germans,” 

This contention was happily interrupted by the arrival 
of a new personage. Every one hastened to receive him, 
and Consuelo, who had seen and heard in her childhood at 
Venice this lean, effeminate-looking man, with his assum- 
ing manners and bravado air, although he was now old, 
faded, ugly, ridiculously frizzled, and dressed out with the 
bad taste of a superannuated Celadon, recognized on the 
instant, so well had she remembered him, the incompar- 
able, the inimitable soprano, Caffarelli, or as he was more 
generally called Caffariello. 

It would have been impossible to find a more imperti- 
nent self-conceited fool than this good Caffariello. The 
women had spoiled him with their flatteries, and the 
applause of the public had turned his brain. He had been 
so handsome, or rather so pretty in his youth, that he had 
made his debut in Italy in female parts, but now when he 
was bordering on fifty, he appeared much older than he 
really was, as sopranos generally do, and one could not 
imagine him acting Dido or Galatea, without a great incli- 
nation to laugh. To make the matter worse, he affected 
the bravo, and at every turn raised his sweet, clear voice, 
without being able to change its expression. There was, 
nevertheless, something good under all this vanity and 
affectation. Caffariello felt his superiority too much to be 
amiable, but he was also too well aware of the dignity of the 
artist to be a servile flatterer. He held his own, however 
absurdly, with the highest personages, even with sover- 
eigns, and therefore he was not liked by those whose flat- 
tery his own impertinence too, severely criticised. The 


GONSUELO. 


577 


true lovers of art pardoned every thing on the score of his 
genius, and notwithstanding the baseness which was im- 
puted to him in his private life, they were forced to admit 
that he displayed courage and generosity as an artist. 

It was not voluntarily or deliberately that he had seemed 
ungrateful and neglectful toward Porpora. He recollected 
having studied eight years with him, and having learned 
from him all that he knew; but he remembered still better 
the day on which his master had said to him : 

‘‘I can now teach you nothing more; va,figUo mio, tu 
set il primo musico del mondo”* 

And from this day, Caffariello, who, after Farinelli, was 
really the finest singer in the world, ceased to trouble him- 
self about any thing except himself. 

Since I am the greatest, said he to himself, '^appar- 
ently I am the only one. The world has been made for 
me; Heaven has bestowed genius on poets and composers to 
enable Caffariello to sing. Porpora was thought the first 
master of singing extant, only because he was destined to 
form Caffariello. Now Porpora^s work is ended, his mis- 
sion is accomplished, and it is sufficient for his glory, his 
happiness, his fame, that Caffariello lives and sings.” 

Caffariello had lived and sung; he was rich and prosper- 
ous, Porpora was poor and neglected; but Caffariello was 
very easy on that head, and said to himself that he had 
amassed so much gold and so much fame, that his master 
should consider himself fully recompensed in having 
ushered such a prodigy into the world. 


CHAPTER LXXXV. 

Caffariello, on entering, saluted the company very dis- 
tantly, but kissed Wilhelmina^s hand tenderly and respect- 
fully; after which he accosted his director, Holzbauer, with 
an affable and patronizing air, and shook Porpora’s hand with 
careless familiarity. Porpora, divided between his indigna- 
tion at his pupirs ingratitude and the necessity of being 
civil — for, if Caffariello asked him to write an opera for 
the theater, and would take the first part, it would com- 


* “Go, my son, thou art the first singer in the world.” 


578 


GONSUELO, 


pletely re-establish his affairs — began to compliment and 
question him somewhat maliciously on his recent triumphs 
in France, but in a tone of irony so guarded that Caffariello 
was not aware of his drift. 

France?'" replied Oaffariello; ‘Mo not speak to me of 
France! It is the country of paltry music, paltry musi- 
cians, paltry amateurs, and a paltry aristocracy. Only 
imagine a scoundrel like Louis XV, after having heard me 
in half-a-dozen admirable concerts, sending me by one of 
his lords — guess what? a miserable snuff-box!" 

“But of gold, and ornamented with valuable diamonds, 
doubtless?" said Porpora, ostentatiously taking out his 
own box, which was of the commonest description. 

“Oh, of course!" replied the soprano ; “but mark the 
impertinence! no portrait! A mere snuff-box, as if I re- 
quired one to use in that manner. Fie! What royal vul- 
garity! I was so indignant!" 

“ I hope," said Porpora, taking a pinch to refresh his 
malicious old nose, “ that you gave the little king a 
lesson." 

“Faith, I did not fail. I said to the gentleman who 
brought it — opening a drawer at the same time before his 
dazzled gaze — ‘ There are thirty snuff-boxes, of which the 
meanest is thirty-fold more valuable than that which you 
offer me; and you perceive, besides, that other sovereigns 
have not disdained to honor me with their miniatures. 
Tell your master that Caffariello is not in want of snuff- 
boxes, Heaven be praised!" 

“ Per Bacco! you must have put the paltry monarch to 
the blush," replied Porpora. 

“Wait! that is not all!’ The gentleman had the insol- 
ence to reply, that as regarded foreigners, his majesty gave 
his portrait only to ambassadors!" 

“ What a clown! And what’did you say?" 

“‘Harkye, sir!" said I; ‘learn that all the ambassadors 
in the world put together would not make one Caf- 
fariello!' " 

“A most excellent reply! Ah! how well I recognize 
my Caffariello in such an answer! And you would not take 
the box?" 

“No, by Jupiter!" replied Caffariello, drawing from 
his pocket, in an absent manner, a snuff-box set with bril- 
liants. 


CONSUELO. 


579 


was not that one, perchance, was it?^^ said Porpora, 
with a careless air. But tell me, did you see our young 
Princess of Saxony there, her whom I placed at the harp- 
sichord for the first time, when her mother the Queen of 
Poland honored me with her patronage ? She was an 
amiable little princess.^^ 

Maria Josephine?” 

Yes, the Grand Dauphiness of France.” 

Did I see her? Oh, very frequently. She is an ex- 
cellent creature — a perfect angel! On my honor, we are 
the best friends in the world. Stay! she gave me this!” 

And he displayed an enormous diamond ring on his 
finger. 

But they say that she laughed immoderately at your 
reply to the king respecting his present.” 

Undoubtedly! she thought I answered very well, and 
that the king her father-in-law had acted toward me like a 
pedant.” 

She told 3^ou so? indeed?” 

‘‘She gave me to understand so, and sent me a passport 
which she had made the king sign with his (Jwn hand.” 

All who heard this dialogue turned aside to laugh in 
their sleeve. Buononcini, when speaking of Caffariello’s 
braggadocio doings in France, had related, only an hour 
before, that the dauphiness, on sending him the passport 
dignified with the royal signature, had remarked to him 
- that it was available only for ten days — a clear indication 
that he was to leave the kingdom with the least possible 
delay. 

Caffariello, fearing perhaps lest he should be questioned 
respecting this circumstance, changed the conversation. 
“Well, my dear master,” said he to Porpora, “have you 
brought out many pupils at Venice in these latter times? 
Have you produced any who promise well?” 

“Do not speak to me of them!” replied Porpora. 
“Since yourself. Heaven has been avaricious and my 
school sterile. Since Porpora made Oatfariello, he has 
crossed his arms, and has given himself up to weariness 
and disgust.” 

“My kind master!” returned Oatfariello, charmed by 
this compliment, which he took entirely in earnest, “you 
are too indulgent to my imperfections. But nevertheless 
you had some pupils of promise when I saw you at the 


m 


coNsmio. 


Scuola dei Mendicanti. Yon had already formed there the 
little Gorilla, who was approved of by the public! by my 
faith, a beautiful creature 

beautiful creature, nothing more.’^ 

“Nothing more? are you serious?” asked Herr Holz- 
baiier, who listened with open ears. 

“ Nothing more, I assure you,” replied Porpora, au- 
thoritatively. 

“ I am obliged to you for the hint,” said Holzbaiier, in 
his ear. “ She arrived here yesterday evening, very ill as 
I am told, and yet this very morning I received a proposal 
from her to enter the court treater.” 

“ She is not what you want,” returned Porpora. “Your 
wife sings ten times — better than she does!” He had 
almost said “less badly,” but he corrected himself in 
time. 

“Many thanks for your information,” replied the 
manager. 

“What! no other pupil than the plump Gorilla?” re- 
sumed Gaffariello. “Is Venice barren? I have a great 
mind to go there next spring with Madame Tesi.” 

“Why not?” 

“ But the Tesi is infatuated with Dresden. Gan I not 
find some kitten to mew at Venice? I am not very difficult 
to please, nor is the public, when it has a primo tiomo of 
my quality to hear the weight of the whole opera. A toler- 
able voice, docile and intelligent, would satisfy me for the 
duets. Ah! by the bye, master, what have you done with 
a little Moorish-looking girl I saw with you?” 

“ I have taught many Moorish-looking girls.” 

“ Oh! but this one had a prodigious voice, and I remem- 
ber I said to you when I heard her, ‘ There is a little fright 
who will make some noise in the world ! ’ I even amused 
myself by singing something to her. Poor child! she shed 
tears of admiration and delight.” 

“Ah! ha!” said Porpora, looking at Gonsuelo, who 
turned as red as the maestro^s rubicund nose. 

“ What the devil was she called?” resumed Gaffariello. 
“A strange name— come; you must recollect her, maestro; 
she was ugly as sin.” 

“It was I,” replied Gonsuelo, who, overcoming her em- 
barrassment with frankness and cheerfulness, advanced and 
saluted Gaffariello gaily,' but at the same time respect- 
fully. 


CONSUELO. 


581 


Caffariello was not to be disconcerted by such a trifle. 

''You?” said be quickly, taking her hand. "You are 
jesting; for you are a very handsome girl, and she of whom 
1 speak ” 

" Oh! it was I, indeed!” returned Consuelo, "Look at 
me well! You will easily recognize me. It is indeed the 
same Consuelo.” 

"Consuelo! yes, that was her devil of a name. But I 
do not recognize you in the least, and I fear much that 
they have changed you. But, my child, if, in acquiring 
beauty, you have lost the voice and talent you gave promise 
of, you would have done much better to have remained 

ugly-” 

"I want you to hear her!” said Porpora, who burned 
with impatience to display his pupiPs talents before Holz- 
baiier. And he pushed Consuelo to the harpsichord, a 
little against her will, for it was a long time since she had 
encountered a learned audience, and she was by no means 
prepared to sing' that evening. 

" You are mystifying me,” said Caffariello. " This is 
not the same person whom I saw at Venice.” 

" You shall judge,” replied Porpora. 

" Indeed, my dear master, it is cruel to make me sing, 
when I have still the dust of a long and fatiguing journey 
in my throat,” said Consuelo, timidly. 

"No matter — sing!” replied the maestro. 

" Be not afraid of me, my child,” said Caffariello, " I 
know what indulgence you require, and to encourage you, 
I will sing along with you, if you wish.” 

" On that condition I consent,” replied she; " and the 
happiness I shall have in hearing you will prevent my 
thinking of myself.” 

" What can we sing together?” asked Caffariello of Por- 
pora. " Do you choose a duet.” 

" Choose one yourself. There is nothing she cannot 
sing with you.” 

" Well, then, something in your style. I wish to gratify 
you to-day, my dear maestro, and besides, I know that the 
Signora Wilhelmina has all your music here, bound and 
gilded with oriental luxury.” 

" Ah!” grumbled Porpora between his teeth, " my works 
are more richly clad than I.” 

Caffariello took the books, turned over the leaves, and 


582 


GONSUELO. 


chose a duet from the Eumene, an opera which the maestro 
had written at Rome for Farinelli. He sang tlie first solo 
with that grandeur, that perfection, that maestria, which 
made his hearers forget in an instant all his ridiculous 
vanity, and left room in their minds only for admiration 
and enthusiasm. Consuelo felt herself animated and in- 
spired with all the power of that extraordinary man, and 
sang in her turn the soprano solo better perhaps than she 
had ever sung before in her life. 

Caffariello did not wait till she had finished, but inter- 
rupted her with rapturous applause. ••'Ah! cara,” cried he 
several times, now I recognize you ! It is indeed the 
wonderful child I remarked at Venice; but wowyfiglia miay 
you are a prodigy! it is Caffariello who tells it to you.” 

Wilhelmina was somewhat surprised and a little discon- 
certed to find Consuelo’s success even greater than at 
Venice. In spite of the pleasure she felt at having such a 
prodigy to produce in her saloons at Vienna, she saw her- 
self, not without some degree of annoyance, silenced, and 
unable, after such a virtuoso, to display her own feebler 
powers to her guests. She affected great admiration, how- 
ever. Holzbaiier, secretly gratified, but at the same time 
fearing there would not be money enough in his coffers to 
requite such abilities, preserved amid his praises a diplo- 
matic reserve. Buononcini declared that Consuelo surpassed 
even Hasse and Cuzzoni. The ambassador gave way to such 
transports that Wilhelmina was terrified, especially when 
she saw him take a large sapphire off his finger 
and give it to Consuelo, who dared neither accept nor 
refuse it. The duet was rapturously encored, but at that 
moment the door opened, and a lackey announced with re- 
spectful solemnity: The Count Hoditz!” Every one rose 
with the instinctive deference which the world ever dis- 
plays, not for the worthiest, not for the most illustrious, 
but for the richest. 

It is very unfortunate,” thought Consuelo, that I 
should meet here together, without any preparation, two 
persons who have seen me on the road with Joseph, and 
who doubtless have formed a false idea of my morals and 
conduct. Ho matter, I shall never deny, in heart or word, 
whatever it may cost me, the friendship I feel for the ex- 
cellent Joseph.” 

Count Hoditz, glittering with gold and embroidery, ad- 


CONSUELO. 


583 


valiced toward Willielmina and kissed her hand. Con- 
snelo saw at a glance, from his manner toward her, the 
difference between a lady of her description and the proud 
patrician dames of Venice. There was more gallantry and 
gaiety with Willielmina; but the conversation was louder, 
the company more noisy, nor did the guests refrain from 
crossing their legs, and standing with their backs to the fire. 
The company seemed to enjoy themselves the more from 
this want of formality; but there was something insulting 
in it, which Consuelo instantly felt and appreciated, 
although this something, concealed as it was by the habits 
of high life, and the respect due to the ambassador, was 
almost imperceptible. 

Count Hoditz was remarkable for this delicate shade of 
manner, which, far from offending Willielmina, seemed to 
please her. Consuelo felt for this poor woman, whose 
gratified vanity only made her seem more an object of 
pity. As to herself, she was in nowise annoyed. A 
zingarella, she laid claim to no distinction, and it was of 
small importance to her whether a bow were deep or other- 
wise. 

I came here,” thought she, in my professional capa- 
city, and so that I give my employers satisfaction, I am 
content to sit quiet in my corner; but this woman, who 
mingles love — if indeed there be love in the matter — witli 
vanity, how she would blush could she witness the secret 
disdain and irony concealed under the ostentatious polite- 
ness and gallantry!” 

Again she sang, and was applauded to the skies, literally 
sharing with Caferiello the honors of the evening. Every 
instant she expected to be saluted by Count Hoditz, and to 
be made the butt of some malicious pleasantry. But, 
strange to say. Count Hoditz never approached the instru- 
ment, toward which she had kept her face turned so that 
he could not see her features, and when he inquired her 
name and age, he seemed as if he had never heard of her 
before. The fact was, he had never received the impru- 
dent note which Consuelo had so boldly addressed him by 
the deserter^s wife. He was, moreover, short-sighted, and 
as it was not then usual to employ eye-glasses iu private 
company, he discerned very imperfectly the pale features 
of the cantatrice. It may appear strange that, lover of the 
drama as he was, he had no curiosity to see more closely so 


584 


WNStJELO, 


remarkable ^ performer, but the reader nliist bear in iiund 
that he loved only his own music, his own method, and 
his own singers. Great talents inspired him with no in- 
terest and no sympathy, and he rather loved to humble 
them and their pretensions. When he was told that 
Faustina Bordoni had made two thousand guineas a year 
in London, and Farinelli six thousand, he merely shrugged 
his shoulders, and said, ‘‘that for some twenty pounds a 
year he had singers in his theater at Roswald in Moravia, 
that were worth Farinelli, Caffariello, and Faustina put 
together. 

Catfariello’s pretensions and airs were particularly re- 
volting and disagreeable to him, just because in his 
own sphere Count Hoditz had precisely the same defects. 
If boasters displease modest and retiring persons, they in- 
spire other boasters with still more aversion and disgust. 
The vain detest the vain. While listening to Caffariello’s 
singing, no person thought of Count Hoditz and his pre- 
tensions; and while Caffariello retailed his gossip. Count 
Hoditz had unhappily no scope for his. No saloon was 
sufficiently vast, no audience sufficiently attentive, to 
satisfy two men so devoured, to use the phrenological term 
of the day, with such a love of ajoprolatio^i. 

A third reason prevented the Count Hoditz from recog- 
nizing the Bertoni of Passau, and that was that he had 
hardly looked at her at Passau, and even if he had, he would 
have had some difficulty in remembering her in her present 
change of costume. He had seen a tolerably handsome 
little girl, he had heard an agreeable and flexible voice, he 
had surmised an understanding susceptible of cultiva- 
tion, but he felt nothing more, and he required noth- 
ing more for his theater at Roswald. Extravagantly 
rich, he was accustomed to buy without much ex- 
amination every thing he took a fancy for. He had 
wished to purchase Consuelo’s services, as we have seen, 
just as one would buy knives at Chatellerault or glass- 
ware at Venice. The bargain had not succeeded, and he 
thought nothing more of the matter, and experienced no 
regret. His serenity indeed had been a little ruffled on 
awaking at Passau and finding his pupils gone, but people 
who have so very high an opinion of themselves are not 
long dejected. They forget quickly, for is not the world 
their own, especially when they are rich? “One chance 


(J0N8UEL0. 


585 


is lost/^ thought he, '' but a hundred others remain/' He 
whispered with Wilhelmina during the last piece which 
Oonsuelo sang, and seeing that Porpora darted looks of 
fiery indignation at him, he soon took his leave, having 
found little pleasure among these pedantic and ill-in- 
structed musicians. 


CHAPTER LXXXVI. 

The first impulse of Oonsuelo, on returning to her 
apartment, was to write Albert; but this was more easily 
said than done. In her first rough copy she had com- 
menced to relate to him all the occurrences of her journey, 
when suddenly it occurred to her that she might afect him 
too violently by depicting the perils and fatigue which she 
had undergone. She remembered the sort of delirious 
frenzy which had taken possession of him when she re- 
counted in the subterraneous grotto the terrors she had 
braved in order to reach him. She destroyed this letter 
therefore, thinking that so earnest and impressionable a 
being required the manifestation of some ruling and promi- 
nent idea, and resolved to omit the moving detail in order to 
express, were it only in a few words, the fidelity and affec- 
tion which she had promised him. But these few words, if 
not precise and clear, would only arouse fresh apprehension, 
nor could she say that she experienced that deep-seated 
love and immovable resolve which would enable Albert to 
hope on with patience. Oonsuelo was all sincerity and 
honor, and could not stoop to utter an equivocation. She 
took her heart and conscience to task, and found, from 
the calmness which she experienced, that she had gained a 
complete victory over the remembrance of Anzoleto. She 
found also in her heart the most complete indifference to- 
ward every other man but Albert ; but the sort of loVe 
and enthusiasm which she now experienced for him, was 
just the same that she had felt when beside him. It was 
not sufficient that the memory of Anzoleto should be ban- 
ished, in order that Count Albert should become the 
object of a violent passion in her heart. Was she to be 
blamed for recalling poor Albert's malady, tlie dreary 
solemnity of the Castle of the Giants, the aristocratic pre- 


586 


C0N8UEL0. 


jiidices of the caiioness, the murder of Zdenko, the dreary 
cavern of the Schreckenstein — in short, all that strange 
and somber existence which, after having breathed the 
free air of the Boehmer Wald and enjoyed the melodies of 
Porpora, recurred to her memory as a frightful dream? 
Although she had opposed the maestro^s cruel maxims as 
to an artisPs career, she found herself in a mode of life so 
appropriate to her education, her intellectual faculties, 
and habits, that she no longer conceived it possible for her 
ever to become the Lady of Riesenburg. 

What could she say then to Albert? What new promise 
or statement could she make? Was she not in the same 
state of irresolution, a prey to the same fear, as when she 
left the chateau ? If she had come to take refuge at 
Vienna rather than elsewhere, it Was because she was 
there under the safeguard of the only legitimate protec- 
tion that had ever been vouchsafed to her. Porpora was 
her benefactor, her father, her support, her master, in the 
most religious acceptation of the word. Near him, she no 
longer felt herself an orphan, or recognized the right of 
disposing of herself according to the sole inspiration of her 
heart or her judgment. But Porpora blamed, ridiculed, 
and repelled with energy the idea of a marriage which he 
considered as the grave of her genius, as the immolation of 
a splendid career on the altar of romantic and childish 
affection. At Riesenburg, also, there was a generous, 
noble, and affectionate old man, who offered himself as a 
father to Consuelo, but can we change fathers according to 
the necessities of our position? And when Porpora said 
no, could Consuelo accept Count Christianas yes9 

That neither could nor ought to be, and she felt she 
must wait for the decision of Porpora, when he had better 
examined the facts of the case and the feelings of the dif- 
ferent parties concerned. But while waiting for this con- 
firmation or reversal of his judgment, what could she say 
to the unhappy Albert — how give him sufficient hope to 
enable him to wait her decision with patience? To acquaint 
him with the first storm of Porpora’s dissatisfaction, 
would be to overthrow all his security ; to conceal it was to 
deceive him, and Consuelo could not bring herself to prac- 
tice the least dissimulation toward him. Had the noble 
young man’s life depended on a falsehood, Consuelo 
would not have spoken that falsehood. There are some 


COKSVELO. 587 

beings whom we respect too much to deceive, even in sav- 
ing them. 

She began again, therefor^, and destroyed twenty letters 
when scarcely commenced, without being able to decide on 
continuing a single one. In whatever manner she made 
the attempt, at the third word she always fell into a rasli 
assertion or a doubt which might produce evil effects. 
She went to bed, overpowered by fatigue, sorrow, and 
anxiety, and lay long awake, shivering with cold, without 
being able to come to any resolution, or to trace out any 
fixed plan for her future career. At last she fell asleep, 
and remained in bed so late that Porpora, who was an 
early riser, had already departed on his rounds. She found 
Haydn busy as on the previous day brushing the clothes 
and arranging the furniture of his new master. ‘MVel- 
come, fair sleeper, cried he on seeing his friend appear at 
last, die of ennui, of sadness, and especially of fear, 
when I do not see you appear, like a guardian angel, be- 
tween that terrible professor and me. It seems as if he 
were always about to penetrate my intentions, to discover 
the plot, and shut me up in his old harpsichord to perish 
there of harmonic suffocation. He makes my hair stand 
on end, your Porpora ; and I cannot persuade myself that 
he is not an old Italian demon, the evil spirits of that 
country being known to be much more wicked and crafty 
than our own.^^ 

Be reassured, my friend,” replied Consuelo ; ^^our 
master is only unhappy, he is not ill-natured. Let us 
begin by bestowing our utmost care to procure him a little 
happiness, and we shall soon see him soften and return to 
his true character. In my childhood I have seen him 
cordial and cheerful ; he was even noted for the wit and 
gaiety of his repartees. But at that period he was success- 
ful ; he had friends and hope. If you had known him at 
the time when his Polyphemus was sung at the St. Moses 
theater, wdien he took me on the stage with him and 
placed me in the wing, from which I could see the back 
scenes and the head of the giant! How beautiful and yet 
how terrible all that seemed to me from my little corner! 
Crouching behind a rock of pasteboard, or clambering 
upon a lamp-ladder, I hardly breathed, and involuntarily 
I imitated with my head and my little arms all the ges- 
tures and motions wdiich I saw the actors make, And 


588 


CON SUE LO, 


when the maestro was recalled seven times before the cur- 
tain, I imagined that he was a god! He was grand, he 
was majestic, in such moments! Alas! he is not yet very 
old, and yet so changed, so cast down! Come, Beppo, let 
us to work, that on his return he may find his poor lodg- 
ing a little more agreeable than when he left it. In the 
first place I will make an inspection of his clothes to see 
what he wants.^^ 

What he wants will make rather a long catalogue, and 
what he has a very short one," replied Joseph, for I 
don't know that my wardrobe is in a much worse condi- 
tion." 

Well ! I shall take care to furnish yours also; for I am 
your debtor, Joseph; you fed and clothed me during our 
entire journey. But let us first think of Porpora. Open 
that press. What ! only one suit ? that which he wore 
yesterday at the ambassador's ?" 

‘^Alas! yes, a maroon suit with cut steel buttons, and 
that not very new either! The other suit, which is old 
and miserably ragged, he put on to go out; and as to his 
dressing-gown, I don't know if he ever had one; at all 
events I have hunted an hour for it in vain." 

Consuelo and Joseph having searched in every corner, 
ascertained that Porpora's dressing-gown was a cliimera of 
their imagination, as well as his overcoat and muff. Tak- 
ing an inventory of the shirts, they found there were but 
three, in tatters, the ruffles all in rags, and so of all the 
rest. '^Joseph," said Consuelo, ‘Miere is a beautiful ring 
which was given me yesterday evening in payment for my 
songs; I do not wish to sell it, that would draw attention 
to me, and perhaps prejudice the doners against what they 
would consider my avarice, but I can pawn it, and borrow 
on its security the money which is necessary for us. 
Keller is honest and intelligent; he will know the value of 
this jewel, and must certainly be acquainted with some 
broker who will .advance me a good sum on the deposit. 
Go, and return quickly." 

‘^It will not take long," replied Joseph. There is a 
sort of Israelitish jeweler who lives in Keller's house, and 
as he is well accustomed to transact such matters for some 
of our court ladies, he will have the money with you in 
luilf an hour; but I want nothing for myself, you under- 
gtand, Consuelo! You, however, whose equipment made 


C0N8VEL0. 


589 


the whole journey on my shoulder, have great need of a 
new toilet, and you will be expected to appear to-morrow, 
perhaps this very evening, in a dress a little less rumpled 
than this is." 

'^We shall settle our accounts by and bye, and as I 
please, Beppo. As I did not refuse your services, I have 
a right to demand that you do not refuse mine. Now run 
to Keller’s.” 

In less than an hour Haydn returned with Keller and 
fifteen hundred florins. Consuelo having explained her 
intentions, Keller disappeared again and soon came back 
with one of his friends, a skillful and expeditious tailor, 
who, having taken the measure of Porpora’s coat and other 
parts of his dress, engaged to bring in a few days two 
other complete suits, a good wadded dressing-gown, as 
well as linen and other articles necessary for the toilet, 
which he promised to order from work-women whom he 
could recommend. 

In the meantime,” said Consuelo to Keller, when the 
tailor had gone, ‘‘I wish to have the greatest secrecy ob- 
served respecting all this. My master is as proud as he is 
poor, and he would certainly throw my poor gifts out of 
the window if he ever suspected that thev came from 
me.” 

‘^How will you manage, then, signora,” observed Jos- 
eph, to make him put on his new clothes and abandon 
his old ones without remarking the change ?” 

‘^Oh, I understand his ways, and I promise you that he 
will not perceive it. I know how to manage him.” 

And now, signora,” resumed Joseph, who, except when 
tete-a-tete, had the good taste to address his friend very 
ceremoniously, in order not to give a false opinion of the 
nature of their friendship, will you not think of yourself 
also? You brought scarcely any thing with you from 
Bohemia, and your dresses, moreover, are not fashionable 
in thi& country.” 

I had almost forgotten that important affair. Good 
Mr. Keller must be my counselor and guide.” 

‘‘Oh!” returned Keller, “I understand; and if I do 
not procure you a most tasteful wardrobe, I shall give you 
leave to call me ignorant and presumptuous.” 

“I will trust to you, my good Keller, and will only ob- 
serve in general, that my taste is simple, and that very gay 


590 


COmUELO. 


dresses and decided colors do not agree with my habitual 
paleness of complexion and quiet manners.” 

You do me injustice, signora, in supposing that I 
require such a warning. Am I not obliged from my call- 
ing to know what colors correspond to particular complex- 
ions and style of features, and do I not see from yours what 
will suit you. Rest easy; you shall be satisfied with me, 
and in a short time you can appear at the court if you 
please without ceasing to be as modest and simple as you 
now are. To adorn the person, and not to change it, is 
the art of the hairdresser and of the milliner.” 

Another word, dear Mr. Keller,” said Consuelo, draw- 
ing the hairdresser aside. You will also have Master 
Haydn dressed anew from head to foot, and with the rest 
of the money you will offer to your daughter, from me, a 
beautiful silk dress for the day of her wedding with him. 
I hope it will not be long delayed; for if I am successful 
here, I can be useful to our friend, and help him to make 
himself known. He has talent, great talent, be assured of 
that.” 

Has he really, signora, I am happy to hear you say 
so. I have always thought so. What do I say? — I was 
sure of it from the first day I remarked him, quite a little 
boy, in the choir of the cathedral.” 

He is a noble youth,” returned Consuelo, ^^and you 
will reap an ample reward in his gratitude and loyalty for 
all that you have done for him, for you also, Keller, as I 
know, are a worthy man and possess a noble heart. In 
the meantime,” added she, approaching Joseph along 
with Keller, ^‘tell us if you have already done what we 
agreed upon respecting Josephus protectors. The idea 
came from you; have you put it in execution ?” 

^^Have I done so, signora?” replied Keller; ^^to say and 
to do are one and the same thing with youi^ humble 
servant. On going to dress my customers this morning, I 
first informed his excellency the Venetian ambassador (I 
have not the honor to dress his own hair, but I curl his 
secretary), then the Abbe Metastasio, whom I shave every 
morning, and Mademoiselle Marianna Martinez, his ward, 
whose head is also intrusted to my care. She lives, as he 
does, in my house — that is to say, I live in their house — 
but no matter! Lastly, I saw two or three other persons 
who likewise know Joseph’s face, and whom he is exposed 


OONStTMLO. 


591 


to meet at Master PorpoiVs. Those who were not my 
customers, I visited under some pretext or other, such as 
the following: ‘I have been informed that Madame the 
Baroness has sent to some of my neighbors for genuine 
bear’s grease for the hair, and 1 have hastened to bring her 
some which I can warrant. I offer it gratis to distinguished 
personages as a sample, and only ask their custom for the 
article if they are pleased with it,’ or else: 'Here is a 
prayer-book which was found at St. Stephen’s last Sunday, 
and as I dress the hair of the cathedral (that is to say, of 
the scholars), I have been requested to ask your excellency 
if this book does not belong to you.’ This book was an 
old worm-eaten concern of gilt and blazoned leather, which 
I had taken from the stall of some canon or other, knowing 
that no one would claim it. In fine, when I had succeeded 
in making myself heard under one pretext or another, I 
commenced to chat with that ease and spirit which is 
tolerated in persons of my profession. I said, for example: 
' I have often heard your lordship spoken of by one of my 
friends who is a skillful musician, Joseph Haydn. It was 
this that emboldened me to present myself in yonr lord- 
ship’s honorable niansion.’ ‘ What !’ they said to me, 
'little Joseph? a charming performer, a young man of 
great promise.’ 'Ah! truly!’ replied [/enchanted to come 
to the point, 'your lordship will be amused by the singular 
and advantageous position in which he is at this moment 
placed.’ 'What has happened to him then? I have 
heard nothing of it.’ 'Oh! there can be nothing more 
comical and at the same time more interesting! He has 
become a valet-de-chambrel’ 'How? a valet? Fie! what 
a degradation, what a misfortune, with so much talent as 
he possesses ! Then he is very poor ? I will certainly 
assist him.’ 'It is not on that account, your lordship,’ 
replied I; 'it is the love of art which has made him adopt 
this singular resolution. He was most anxious at any 
sacrifice' to procure the lessons of the illustrious master 
Porpora.’ 'Ah! yes, I know that, and Porpora refused to 
hear him and admit him. He is a very fanciful and most 
morose man of genius.’ ' He is a great man, a great 
heart,’ replied I, according to. the instructions of the 
Signora Oonsuelo, who in all this does not wish her master 
to be blamed or ridiculed. ' Be assured,’ added I, 'that 
he will soon recognize little Haydn’s genius, and will 


59 ^ 


CONStlELO. 


bestow on him all his care ; but, not to irritate his 
gloomy temper, and to obtain admittance to his house 
without exciting his anger, Joseph has hit upon nothing 
more ingenious than to enter his service as valet, and to 
pretend the most complete ignorance of music.’ ‘ The 
idea is touching, charming,’ replied they, quite moved; ^it 
is the heroism of a real artist; but he must hasten to 
obtain the good grace of Porpora before he is recognized 
and mentioned to the latter as an already well-known 
artist; for young Haydn is liked and protected by some 
persons who frequently visit at Porpora’s house.’ ^ But 
those persons,’ said I then, with an insinuating air, ‘ are 
too generous, too high-minded, not to keep Joseph’s little 
secret for him, and even to dissemble a little with Porpora 
in order to preserve his confidence in him.’ ^Oh,’ cried 
they, ' I certainly will not be the one to betray the good 
and learned Joseph, and I shall forbid my people to drop 
an imprudent word which might find its way to the 
maestro’s ears.’ Then they sent me away with a trifling 
present, or an order for bear’s grease, and as for the gentle- 
man secretary of the embassy, he was greatly interested in 
the adventure, and promised to entertain Signor Corner 
with it at breakfast, in order that he, who is a particular 
admirer of Joseph’s, may be the earliest on his guard with 
Porpora. Thus my. diplomatic mission has been fulfilled. 
Are you satisfied, signora?” 

If I were a queen, I would appoint you my ambassador 
on the spot,” replied Consuelo. But I see the maestro 
returning. Fly, dear Keller, do not let him see you!” 

And why should I fly, signora? I will begin to dress 
your hair, and it will be supposed you sent your valet 
Joseph for the nearest hairdresser.” 

He has more wit a hundred times than we,” said Con- 
suelo to Joseph; and she abandoned her ebon tresses to the 
skillful hands of Keller, while Joseph resumed his duster 
and apron, as Porpora heavily ascended the staircase 
humming an air of his forthcoming opera. 


CONSUELO. 


593 


CHAPTER LXXXVII. 

As HE was naturally very absent^ Porpora, on kissing 
the forehead of his adopted daughter, did not even remark 
Keller, who had possession of her hair, and began to 
search in his music for the written fragment of the air 
which was running through his brain. On seeing his 
papers, usually scattered upon the harpsichord in inde- 
scribable disorder, ranged in symmetrical piles, he roused 
himself from his reverie and exclaimed: 

‘^Wretch that he is ! He has had the impertinence to 
touch my manuscripts! These valets are all alike! They 
think they arrange when they heap up! I had great need, 
by my faith, to take a valet. This is the commencement 
of my punishment.” 

'^‘Forgive him, master,” replied Consuelo; ^^your music 

was in a perfect chaos ” 

knew my way in that chaos! I could get up at night 
and find any passage in my opera by feeling in the dark ; 
now I know nothing about it; I am lost, it will cost me a 
montlPs hard work to put it to rights again.” 

‘^No, master, you will find your way at onoe. Besides, 
it was I who committed the fault, and although the pages 
were not numbered, 1 believe I have put every sheet in its 
place. Look ! I am sure you will be able to read more 
easily in the book I have made, than in all those loose 
sheets which a gust of wind might carry out of the 
window.” 

^^A gust of wind! T)o you take my chamber for the 
lagunes of Fusina?” 

''If not a gust of wind, at least a stroke of the duster, 
or a sweep of the broom.” 

"But what need was there to sweep and dust my cham- 
ber? I have now lived here a fortnight and have never let 
any one enter it.” 

" That was plain enough, indeed,” thought Joseph. 

" Well, master, you must allow me to change that habit. 
It is unhealthy to sleep in a chamber which is not aired 
and cleaned every day. I will undertake myself to arrange 
your papers every day in the exact order in which they 
vrore before Beppo commenced to sweep.” 

" Beppo? Beppo? who is Beppo? I know no Beppo.’’ 


594 


CONSUELO. 


There is Beppo,” said Consuelo, pointing to Joseph. 
“ He has a name so difficult to pronounce that you would 
have been shocked by it every instant. I have given him 
the first Venetian name I thought of. Beppo is a good 
name; it is short, and can be sung.” 

As' you will!” replied Porpora, who began to soften on 
turning over the leaves of his opera and finding it arranged 
with exactness, and stitched in a single book. 

Confess, master,” said Oonsuelo, seeing him smile, 
‘‘that it is more convenient so.” 

“Ah! you wish to be always in the right,” returned the 
maestro. “ You will be obstinate all your days.” 

“But, master, have you breakfasted?” resumed Con- 
suelo, whom Keller had now restored to liberty. 

“ Have you breakfasted yourself?” replied Porpora, with 
a mixture of impatience and solicitude. 

“Oh! yes. And you, master?” 

“And this boy, this — Beppo, has he eaten any thing!” 

“He has breakfasted. And you, master?” 

“ Then you found something here? I did not remem- 
ber that I had any provisions.” 

“We have breakfasted very well. And you, master?” 

“And you, master! And you, master! Gro to the devil 
with your questions. What is it to you?” 

“You have not breakfasted, my dear master,” replied 
Consuelo, who sometimes permitted herself to treat Por- 
pora with Venetian familiarity. 

“Ah! I see plainly that some wicked spirit has entered 
my house. She will not let me be quiet! Come here now, 
and sing this air for me. Attention, I beseech you.” 

Consuelo seated herself at the harpsichord and sung the 
air, while Keller, who was a decided dilettante, remained 
at the other end of the chamber, with comb in hand and 
mouth half open. The maestro, who was not satisfied with 
his air, made her repeat it thirty times in succession, some- 
times making her lay the emphasis upon certain notes, 
sometimes upon certain others, seeking for the shade he 
dreamed of, with an obstinacy that could only be equaled 
by Consuelo^s patience and docility. 

In the meanwhile, Joseph, upon a signal from the latter, 
had gone to get the chocolate which she herself had pre- 
pared during Keller’s absence. He brought it, and guess- 
ing the intentions of his friend, placed it softly upon the 


CONSUELO, 


595 


music-desk without attracting the notice of the master, 
who, an instant afterward, took it mechanically, poured it 
into the cup, and swallowed it with great appetite. A 
second cup was brought and swallowed in the same man- 
ner with a supply of bread and butter; and Consuelo, who 
was a little mischievous, said to. him, on seeing him eat 
with pleasure: 

I knew, master, that you had not breakfasted.” 

‘^It is true,” replied he, without evincing any anger ; 

I think I must have forgotten it. That often happens 
to me when I am composing, and I do not recollect it till 
later in the day, when I have gnawings at my stomach and 
spasms.” 

And then you drink brandy, master?” 

Who told you so, you little fool?” 
found the bottle.” 

‘^Well! what is that to you? You are not going to 
forbid me brandy?” 

Yes, I shall. You were temperate at Venice and you 
always enjoyed good health.” 

That is the truth,” said Porpora, sadly. It seemed 
to me that every thing went badly there, and that here it 
would be better. Nevertheless every thing goes on from 
bad to worse with me. Fortune, health, ideas — every 
thing!” And he dropped his head on his hands. 

Shall I tell you why you find a difficulty in working 
here?” returned Consuelo, who wished to distract his 
thoughts, by matters of detail, from the desponding 
humors that weighed him down. ‘^It is because you have 
not your good Venetian coffee, which gives so much 
strength and spirits. You excite yourself after the man- 
ner of the Germans with beer and liquors; that does net 
agree with you.” 

Ah! that is also the truth. My good Venetian coffee! 
It was an inexhaustible source of witty phrases and great 
ideas. It was genius, it was wit, which flowed through 
my veins with gentle warmth. Every thing that I drink 
here makes me sad or crazy.” 

‘‘ Well, master, return to your coffee!” 

‘^Coffee? here? I won’t have it. It gives too much 
trouble. You need a fire, a maid-servant, a coffee-pot 
which has to be washed and moved about, and gets broken, 
making a most discordant noise in the midst of ^ harmo- 


596 


CONSUELO. 


nions combination! No, no! My bottle on the floor, 
between my legs ; that is more convenient and sooner 
done.” 

That is sometimes broken too. I broke it this morn- 
ing, when I was going to put it into the wardrobe.” 

You have broken my bottle! I don’t know what hin- 
ders me, you little fright, from breaking my cane over 
your shoulders.” 

Pshaw! you’ve been saying that to me for fifteen years, 
and yet you have never given me a single slap. I am not 
at all afraid.” 

Chatterbox! will you sing? will you get me out of this 
cursed air? I would wager you do not know it yet, you 
are so absent this morning,” 

^^You shall see,” said Consuelo, quickly shutting the 
book. And she sang the air as she conceived it, that is to 
say, differently from Porpora. Knowing his temper, al- 
though she had seen plainly from the first attempt that he 
had become confused in his ideas, and that he had conse- 
quently given it a labored and unnatural turn, she had 
not permitted herself to give him any advice. He would 
have rejected it from the spirit of contradiction, but by 
singing the air in her own manner, while pretending all 
the while to make a mistake of memory, she was very sure 
he would be struck by it. Hardly had he heard it, than 
he bounded from his chair, clapping his hands and ex- 
claiming : 

That is it! that is it! that is what I wanted, and what 
I could not And. How the deuce did it come to you?” 

Is it not what you have written? or can I by chance 

But no, that is certainly your phrase.” 

it is yours, you cheat!” cried Porpora, who was 
candor itself, and who, notwithstanding his diseased and 
immoderate love of glory, would never have appropriated 
anything from vanity; ‘‘ it was you who found it! Repeat 
it to me. It is good and I will profit by it.” 

Consuelo recommenced several times, and Porpora wrote 
from her dictation; then he pressed liis pupil to his heart, 
saying, ‘^You are a fairy! I always thought you were a 
fairy!” 

A good fairy, believe me, master,” replied Consuelo, 
smiling. 

Porpora, delighted at having found out what he wanted, 


uomiTMO. 


597 

after a whole morning of fruitless disturbance and musical 
torment, sought mechanically on the floor beside him for 
the neck of the bottle, but not finding it, he felt about 
upon the desk and swallowed what he happened to find 
there. It was delicious coffee which Oonsuelo had skillfully 
and patiently prepared at the same time as the chocolate, 
and which Joseph had just brought in piping hot, at a 
fresh signal from his friend. 

Oh! nectar of the gods! — Oh! tutelary genius of mu- 
siciansT exclaimed Porpora as he sipped it; what angel, 
what fairy brought thee from Venice under his wing?^^ 

‘^It was some sprite,^’ replied Oonsuelo. 

‘^Thou art at once angel and fairy, my child,” said Por- 
pora, mildly, returning to his desk. I see that you love 
me, care for me, and would make me happy. Even this 
poor youth feels an interest in me,” he added as he per- 
ceived Joseph standing at the threshold of the outer 
chamber, and looking at him with moistened eyes. ^^Ali! 
poor children, you wish to cheer my unhappy life! Fool- 
ish creatures, you know not what you do. I am fated to 
be solitary and miserable, and a few brief days’ sympathy 
and happiness will only make me feel more sensibly my 
wretched fate when they are fled.” 

I shall never leave you — I will be always your daughter 
and servant,” said Oonsuelo, throwing her arms round his 
neck. Porpora bent his aged head over the paper before 
him, and burst into tears. Oonsuelo and Joseph wept 
also; and Keller, whose passion for music had kept him 
spell-bound, and who, to give a color to his delay, bad 
busied herself in arranging the master’s periwig, seeing, 
through the half-open door, this affecting picture of grief, 
Oonsuelo’s filial piety, and Joseph’s enthusiasm, let fall his 
comb, and in his agitation mistaking Porpora’s wig for a 
handkerchief, rubbed his eyes with it in a distracted man- 
ner. 

Oonsuelo was confined to the house for some days by a 
cold. During her long and adventurous journey she had 
braved every vicissitude of weather, and all the changes of 
the autumn — sometimes burning, sometimes wet and cold, 
according to the regions which she traversed. Lightly 
clothed, a straw hat upon her head, and having neither 
cloak nor coat to change when her garments were wet, she 
had never sustained the least injury; but hardly was she 


598 


C0N8UEL0. 


shut up in Porpora’s dark, damp, and badly aired abode, 
than she felt cold, and indisposition paralyzed her energy 
and her voice. Porpora was out of sorts at this untimely 
occurrence. He knew that to obtain an engagement for 
his pupil at the theater, he must lose no time, for Tesi, 
who had wished to go to Dresden, afterward hesitated, 
owing to the intreaties of Oaffariello, and the brilliant 
promises of Holzbaiier, who were desirous to secure so cele- 
brated a singer for themselves. On the other hand. Gorilla, 
still confined to bed, was intriguing with tlie directors 
through such of her friends as she found at Vienna, and 
declared she would be able to appear in eight days should 
they require her services. Porpora devoutly wished ’ that 
Consuelo should be engaged, as well for her own sake, as 
for that of his forthcoming opera. 

Consuelo on her part did not know what to resolve. 
To accept an engagement was to protract the possibility 
of her union with Albert, was to carry terror and conster- 
nation into the family of the Rudolstadts, who certainly 
did not expect she would resume the career of the stage ; 
it would be to renounce the honor of the connection, and 
make known to the young count that she preferred glory 
and liberty to him. On the other hand, by refusing this 
engagement she would destroy the last hopes of Porpora, 
and evince in her turn the ingratitude which had been the 
despair and misery of his life: it would be a dagger-stroke 
to his happiness. Consuelo, terrified at this dilemma, and 
seeing that whatever part she took she would inflict a mor- 
tal blow, fell into a deep melancholy. Her vigorous con- 
stitution preserved her indeed from serious illness; but 
during this fit of anguish and terror, preyed on by alter- 
nate chill and fever, crouching over a miserable fire, or 
dragging herself from chamber to chamber, to attend to 
domestic duties, she secretly wished and hoped that some 
serious malady might free her for a time from the duties 
and difficulties of her situation. 

Porpora’s temper, which had been softened for a mo- 
ment, became once more gloomy, querulous, and inquiet 
when he saw Cpnsuelo, his hope and stay, become sorrow- 
stricken and irresolute; instead of supporting and animat- 
ing her with enthusiasm and tenderness, he manifested a 
morbid impatience which completed her dismay. Alter- 
nately weak and violent, the tender and irritable old man, 


CONSUELO. 


599 


devoured with that spleen which was in a short time to in- 
flict a fatal blow on Jean Jacques Kousseau, saw on all 
sides enemies, persecutors, and ingrates, without being 
aware that his suspicions, his anger, and his false accusa- 
tions furnished a pretext for the evil intentions and mis- 
conduct which he ascribed to them. The first impulse of 
those whom he thus mortified was to look upon him as mad; 
the second to believe him ill-natured and malicious ; the 
third to have nothing to say to him, or to study revenge. 
Between cowardly submission and savage misanthropy 
there is a happy medium which Porpora never dreamed of, 
and which he certainly never realized. 

Consuelo, after making several vain efforts, seeing that 
he was less disposed than ever to hear of love or marriage, 
resolved no longer to provoke explanations which merely 
served to sour her unfortunate master more and more. She 
‘never mentioned Albertis name, and held herself ready to 
sign any engagement that might be proposed by Porpora. 
It was only when she was alone with Joseph that she ex- 
perienced some solace in opening her heart to him. 

‘‘What a strange destiny is mine!’’ she said to him fre- 
quently. “ Heaven has gifted me with talents, a soul for 
art, a love of liberty, and of a proud and lofty indepen- 
dence; but, at the same time, instead of that fierce selfish- 
ness which imparts the necessary firmness to meet the un- 
avoidable difficulties and seductions of life, the same celes- 
tial power has implanted in my breast a tender and sensi- 
tive heart, which beats only with affectionate emotion. 
Thus divided between two opposing impulses, my existence 
is annihilated, and my prospects destroyed. • If I am born 
for devotion, may the Almighty blot out from my soul that 
love for art, for poetry, and that desire for liberty, which 
is an agony and a torment; but if I am born for art and for 
liberty, let Him then take away that pity, that devotion, 
that anxiety, and fear of giving offense, which will ever 
poison my triumphs and embarrass my career.” 

“If I had any advice to give you, my poor Consuelo,” 
said Haydn, “ it would be to listen to the voice of genius, 
and to stifle the impulses of your heart ; but now I know 
your position, and I know that you are unable to act thus.” 

“ No, Joseph, I am not able; it seems to me that I never 
shall be able. Butsee my misfortune! consider my strange 
and unhappy lot! My heart is torn in opposite directions, and 


600 


CONSUELO, 


I cannot go whither it would impel me, without, on the right 
hand or the left, breaking a heart that leans upon me for 
support. If I give myself up to the one, I abandon and 
destroy the other. I am betrothed to one whose wife I 
cannot be without killing my adopted father; and if I ful- 
fill my duties as a daughter I abandon those of a wife. The 
wife, it has been written, shall leave father and mother 
to cleave to her husband; but in reality, I am neither wife 
nor daughter. The law has not pronounced its authoritive 
dictum. Society has not concerned itself with my lot. To 
my heart must be left the choice. I am not infiuenced by 
human passion, and in the dilemma in which I stand, duty 
and devotion throw no light upon my path. Albert and 
Porpora are equally unfortunate, equally threatened with 
the loss of reason or of life. I am necessary to them both, 
yet I must sacrifice one or other.'’’ 

And wherefore? If you were to marry the count, would- 
not Porpora go and reside with you? You would thus res- 
cue him from poverty; you would revive him by your care 
and solicitude, and thus accomplish your twofold aim.” 

‘^Ah! were it thus, Joseph, I swear to you I should re- 
nounce both art and freedom. But you do not know Por- 
pora: it is glory, not happiness, which he desires. He is 
destitute, and yet he does not know it; he suffers, without 
knowing whence arises his pain ; besides, ever dreaming 
of triumph and admiration, he knows not how to stoop to 
accept pity. Be assured that his distress is mainly the re- 
sult of his carelessness and his pride. Were he but to say 
the word, he has friends who would hasten to his assist- 
ance; but besides that he never looks whether his pocket 
be full or empty, and you are aware that he is little better 
informed as to his stomach ; he would rather die of 
hunger in his solitary chamber than seek a dinner 
from his best friend. It would be to degrade music 
in his estimation were any one to suspect that 
Porpora needed aught but , his genius, his harpsi- 
chord, and his pen. Thus the ambassador and his 
lady, who cherish and respect him, never suspect his des- 
titution. Were they to see him in a confined and mean 
abode, they would ascribe it to his habits of seclusion and 
carelessness. Does he not say himself he could not com- 
pose otherwise? I, who know better, have seen him 
clamber upon the roofs of Venice, to drink in inspiration 


GONSUELO, 


601 


from the music of the waves, and the stars of heaven. 
And when they receive them in his soiled attire, his rusty 
wig, and tattered shoes, do they not think they are grati- 
fying his whim? He likes to be dirty and ragged, they 
say; it is the failing of artists and old men; he could not 
walk in new shoes. He also says so; but I remember the 
time when he was neat, clean, shaven, perfumed, with his 
lace ruffles sweeping the keys of the organ or pianoforte, 
just because he could be so without being obliged to any 
one. Never would Porpora consent to live an indolent and 
obscure life, in the recesses of Bohemia, and at the expense 
of his friends. He would not be there three months with- 
out abusing every one, and asserting that all around him 
had conspired with his enemies to prevent the production 
and publication of his works. Some fine morning, there- 
fore, he would shake the dust from off his feet, and return 
to his garret, his rat-gnawed harpsichord, his fatal bottle, 
and darling manuscripts.” 

And do you not think it possible to bring your count to 
Vienna, Dresden, Prague, or some other musical town? 
With your resources you could establish yourselves any- 
where, cultivate art, surround yourselves with musicians, 
and give a free course to PorpoiVs ambition, without 
ceasing to watch over him.” 

After what I have told you of Albert's character and 
state of health, how can you ask me such a question? He 
who could not bear a strange face, how could he face 
the crowd of evil-minded and foolish wretches which we 
call the world? And what ridicule, what aversion, what 
contempt, would not the world shower upon a man so 
rigidly pious, who would understand nothing of its laws, 
its customs, or its manners! All that were as hazardous 
to attempt with Albert, as what I now try in order to make 
him forget me.” 

^^Be assured, nevertheless, that all these evils would 
seem lighter than your absence. If he truly love he will 
bear every thing; and if he does not love you sufficiently 
to put up with every thing, he will forget you.” 

Therefore I pause, and decide upon nothing. Inspire 
me with courage, Beppo, and stay beside me, that I may 
at least have one heart unto which I can pour my sorrows, 
and from which I can seek a common hope.” 

^^Oh, my sister, trust in me!” exclaimed Joseph; ^Mf I 


602 


CONSUELO, 


am so happy as to afford you this slight consolation, I shall 
cheerfully put up with Poi’poiVs tirades. Were he even to 
heat me, I would bear it, if that would turn him aside from 
tormenting and afflicting you.” 

In planning thus with Joseph, Consuelo labored inces- 
santly in preparing their common repast, or mending Por- 
pora’s worn-out garments. She introduced by degrees into 
the sitting apartment some necessary articles of furniture. 
A large, easy arm-chair, well stuffed, replaced the straw 
one in which he was wont to rest his old limbs, weakened 
by age. And after having enjoyed a comfortable nap in 
it, he was surprised, and asked with beetling brows where 
this good seat had come from. 

“ The mistress of the house sent it up,” replied Con- 
suelo; ^^it was in her way, and I allowed it a corner till 
she should ask for it again.” 

PorpoiVs mattress was changed, and he made no other 
remark on the goodness of his bed, save that for some 
nights past he had slept better. Consuelo replied, that 
he might attribute this improvement to his coffee, and to his 
refraining from brandy.” One morning, Porpora having 
put on an excellent dressing-gown, asked, with an anxious 
air, where it had been found. Joseph, who had received 
his lesson, replied that in settling an old trunk he had 
found it stuffed in a corner of it. 

“ I did not think I had brought it with me here,” said 
Porpora. It is, nevertheless, the one I had at Venice; 
at least it is the same color.” 

‘'And what other could it be?” replied Consuelo, who 
had taken care to match the worn-out garment cairefully. 

“Why, the fact is, I thought it was more worn,” said 
the maestro, looking at his elbaws. 

“You are right,” she replied, “I put in new sleeves.” 

“ And with what?” 

“ With a part of the lining.” 

“Ah, you women are wonderful creatures, for making 
every thing of use.” 

And when the new coat had been worn a couple of days, 
although it was the same color as the old one, he was sur- 
prised to see it so fresh, and the buttons especially, which 
were very pretty, set him thinking: 

“ This coat is not mine,” said he, in a grumbling tone. 

“I desired Beppo to get it scoured,” replied Consuelo, 


• COmUELO.^ 603 

it was miicli soiled. They have refreshed it, that is 

all.^^ 

tell yon it is not mine/^ said the maestro, enraged; 

they have changed it. Your Beppo is a fool.” 

^^That could not be, for I marked it.” 

And these buttons? Do you think to make me swal- 
low them?” 

I changed the trimming, and sewed them on myself; 
the old were entirely worn out.” 

You are pleased to say so; but it was still very decent. 
How stupid! am I a Celadon, to deck myself out in this 
fashion, and pay twelve sequins at least for a trimming?” 

It does not cost twelve florins,” replied Coiisuelo, it 
was picked up by chance.” 

His garments were gradually renewed with the help of 
such dexterous flbs, which gave Consuelo and Joseph 
many a hearty laugh. Some things passed unobserved, 
thanks to Porpora’s absence of mind, the lace and linen 
found their way by degrees into his drawers, and when he 
looked attentively at them Consuelo took credit to her- 
self for having renovated them so well. To give a sem- 
blance of truth to what she said, she mended some of his 
things before his eyes, and placed them with the rest. 

That will do,” said Porpora, one day tearing a rufile 
out of her hands ; what nonsense! an artist must not be 
a drudge, and I will not have you bent double all d^y with 
a needle in your Angers. Put it past, or I shall throw it 
into the fire ; nor will I suffer you to go on cooking, and 
swallowing the fumes of charcoal. Do you wish to lose 
your voice? Would you be a scullion? Would you make 
me miserable?” 

^^Far from it,” replied Consuelo ; ‘^your things are now 
in good order, and my voice is quite recovered.” 

‘‘Good!” exclaimed the maestro, “in that case you 
shall sing to-morrow at the palace of the Countess Hoditz, 
dowager Margravine of Bareith.” 


CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 

The dowager Margravine of Bareith, widow of the Mar- 
grave George William, by birth Princess of Saxe Weisen- 
feld, and subsequently Countess Hoditz, had, “it was 


604 


C0N8UEL0. 


said, been beautiful as an angel. But she was so changed 
that hardly a trace of her charms remained. She was tall, 
and appeared to have had a fine figure, but time, that 
great destroyer, had made sad ravages upon it. Her face 
was long, as well as her nose, which latter feature disfig- 
ured her greatly, being red and frostbitten. Her eyes, 
accustomed to give law to those with whom she associated, 
were large, brown, and well set, but so dim that their 
vivacity was much impaired. She had false eyebrows, 
very thick and black as ink ; her mouth, though large, 
was well formed and full of expression ; her teeth regular 
and white as ivory ; her complexion, though clear, was 
sallow, and leaden-colored ; and her air and carriage were 
dignified but somewhat affected. She was the Lais of her 
time, and could have only pleased by her looks, for as to 
mind she had none.” 

If you find this portrait rather severe do not ascribe it 
to me, dear reader. It is word for word from the hands of 
a princess remarkable for her misfortunes, her domestic 
virtues, her petulance, and her pride — the Princess Wil- 
helmina, of Prussia, sister of Frederick the Great, married 
to the Hereditary Prince of Bareith, nephew of the 
Countess Hoditz. She had the most caustic tongue, per- 
haps, that royal blood ever produced. But her portraits, 
it must be confessed, are masterly, and it is difficult in 
reading them not to believe they are correct. 

When Consuelo, her hair arranged by Keller, and 
dressed, thanks to his care and zeal with elegant sim- 
plicity, was introduced by Porpora into the margravine's 
saloon, she seated herself with him behind the harpsi- 
chord, which had been placed in a corner so as not to in- 
commode the company. No one had yet arrived, so punct- 
ual was Porpora, and the valets had just finished lighting 
the candles. The maestro commenced to try the instru- 
ment, and had hardly sounded a few notes when a fair and 
exquisitely graceful young woman entered and approached 
him with graceful affability. As Porpora saluted her with 
the greatest respect, and called her princess, Consuelo 
took her for the margravine, and according to the usual 
custom, kissed her hand. That cold and colorless hand 
pressed the young giiTs with a cordiality which is 
rarely found among the great, and which immediately 
gained Consuelo's heart. The princess appeared to be 


GONSUELO. 


605 


about thirty years of age ; her form was elegant without 
being faultless ; indeed there might be remarked in it 
certain deviations which seemed the result of great phy- 
sical sufferings. Her features were remarkably noble and 
regular, but frightfully pale, and it seemed as if some 
concealed sorrow had imparted to them a worn and anx- 
ious expression. Her toilet was exquisite, but simple and 
decent even to severity. An air of melancholy sweetness 
and timid modesty was diffused over all her actions, and 
the sound of her voice had something humble and affect- 
ing which touched Consuelo to the heart. Before the lat- 
ter had time to comprehend that this was not the mar- 
gravine, the true margravine appeared. She was then 
more than fifty, and if the portrait which has been given 
at the beginning of this chapter, and which was drawn 
ten years before, was at that period a little overcharged, it 
certainly was no longer so at the present moment. It 
even required a great stretch of good nature to imagine 
that the Countess Hoditz had been one of the beauties of 
Germany, although she was painted and adorned with the 
skill of a finished coquette. The embonpoint of riper 
years had destroyed the shape which the margravine still 
persisted in imagining had still retained all its pristine 
beauty, for her neck and shoulders braved the eye of a 
spectator with all the proud confidence of an antique 
statue. She wore flowers, diamonds, and feathers in her 
hair, like a young lady, and her dress rustled with precious 
stones. 

Mamma, said the princess who had caused Oonsuelo's 
error, this is the young person whom Master Porpora in- 
formed us of, and who will afford us tlie pleasure of hear- 
ing some of the fine music of his new opera.^^ 

“That is no reason,'^ replied the margravine, measuring 
Consuelo from head to foot, “why you should hold her 
by the hand in that manner. Go and seat yourself at the 
harpsichord, mademoiselle. I am delighted to see you ; 
you will sing when the company has assembled. Master 
Porpora, I salute you. Will you excuse my not attending 
to you ; I perceive that something is amiss ii> my toilet. 
My daughter, converse a little with Master Porpora. He 
is a man of talent whom I esteem.” 

Having thus spoken, in a rough and masculine voice, 
the portly margravine turned heavily on her heel, and re- 
entered her apartment. 


GOG 


CONSUELO. 


Hardly had she disappeared, when the princess, her 
daughter, approaching Consuelo, once more took her hand 
with a delicate and touching kindness, as if to make it 
apparent that she protested against her mother’s imperti- 
nence. She then engaged in conversation with her and 
Porpora, and testified a graceful and unaffected interest in 
then>. Consuelo was still more sensible of this kind proceed- 
ing when, several persons having been introduced, she re- 
marked in the habitual manners of the princess a coldness 
and reserve at once proud and timid, which she evidently 
laid aside when addressing the maestro and herself. 

When the saloon was almost filled. Count Hoditz, who 
had dined from home, entered in full dress, and, as if he 
had been a stranger in his own house, proceeded respect- 
fully to kiss the hand and inquire after the health of his 
noble spouse. The margravine pretended to be of a very 
delicate constitution; she reclined upon a couch, inhaling 
every instant the perfume of a smelling-bottle, and receiv- 
ing the homage of her guests with an air which she thought 
languishing, but which was only disdainful, and in short, 
she was so completely ridiculous, that Consuelo, although 
at first irritated and indignant at her insolence, ended hy 
being highly amused, and promised herself a hearty laugh 
in drawing her portrait to her friend Beppo. ' 

The princess had once more approached the harpsi- 
chord, and did not lose an opportunity of addressing 
either a word or a smile to Consuelo when her mother was 
not observing her. This situation allowed Consuelo to 
overhear a little family scene, which disclosed the state of 
matters in the household. Count Hoditz approached his 
daughter-in-law, took her hand, carried it to his lips, and 
kept it there for some instants with a very expressive look. 
The princess withdrew her hand, and addressed a few 
words to him in a cold and deferential manner. The 
count did not listen to them, and continuing to gaze upon 
her: ‘MVhat! my beautiful angel,” said he, always sad, 
always severe, always muffled to the chin? One would 
imagine that you wished to become a nun.” 

It is qirite possible I shall come to that,” replied the 
princess in a low voice. The world has not treated me 
in such a manner as to inspire me with much attachment 
for its pleasures.” 

“ The world would adore you, and would throw itself at 


GONSUELO. 


607 


your feet, if you did not affect to keep it at a distance by 
your severity; and as to the cloister, could you endure its 
horrors at your age, and with your charms ?” 

In more joyous days, and when .far more beautiful 
than I am at present,” replied she, ‘‘ I endured the horrors 
of a more rigorous captivity; can you have forgotten it ? 
But do not talk to me any longer, my lord; mamma is 
looking at you.” 

Immediately the count, as if moved by some piece of.. 
mechanism, quitted his daughter-in-law and approached 
Oonsuelo, whom he saluted very gravely; then, having 
addressed some words to her as an amateur respecting 
music in general, he opened the book which Porpora had 
placed upon the harpsichord, and pretending to be in 
search of something which he wished her to explain to him, 
he leaned upon the stand, and spoke thus to her in a low 
voice: “I saw the deserter yesterday morning, and liis 
wife gave me a note. I request the beautiful Consuelo to 
forget a certain meeting, and in return for her silence I 
will forget a certain Joseph whom I just now saw in my 
ante-chamber.” 

‘‘ That certain Joseph,” replied Consuelo, whom the dis- 
covery of the conjugal jealousy and constraint to which 
the count was subjected had made quite easy respecting 
the consequences of the adventure at Passau, is an artist 
of talent who will not long remain in antechambers. He 
is my brother, my comrade, and my friend. I have no 
reason to blush for my sentiments toward him; I have 
nothing to conceal in that respect, and I have nothing to 
request from your lordship^s generosity but a little indul- 
gence for my voice, and a little protection for Joseph in 
the outset of his musical career.” 

'^My interest is pledged for the said Joseph, as my 
admiration is already so for your beautiful voice; but I 
flatter myself that a certain jest on my part was never 
taken as serious.” 

‘^1 was not so stupid, my lord; and besides, I know that 
a woman has never any reason to boast of having been 
made the subject of a jest of that nature.” 

It is enough, signora,” said the count, from whom the 
dowager never removed her eyes, and who was in a hurry 
to change his position in order not to excite her suspicion ; 

the celebrated Consuelo must know how to make allow- 


608 


C0N8UEL0, 


ances for the gaiety and abandonment of a journey, and 
she may depend in future upon the respect and devotion of 
Count Hoditz.” 

He replaced the book upon the harpsichord, and hast- 
ened to receive most obsequiously a personage who had 
just been announced with much pomp. It was a little 
man, who might have been taken for a woman in disguise, 
so rosy was he, so curled, trinketted, delicate, genteel, and 
perfumed; it was he of whom Maria Theresa had said that 
she wished she could have set him in a ring; it was he also 
whom she said she had made a diplomatist, because she 
could make nothing better of him. It was tlie Austrian 
plenipotentiary, the prime minister, the favorite, some 
even said the lover of the empress; it was no less a person- 
age, in short, than the celebrated Kaunitz, that statesman 
who held in his white hand, ornamented with rings of 
a thousand colors, all the tangled strings of European 
diplomacy. 

He appeared to listen with a grave air to the would-be 
grave personages who were supposed to converse with him 
on serious and important subjects. But suddenly be inter- 
rupted himself to ask Count Hoditz, Who is that young 
person I see there at the harpischord? Is that the little 
girl I have heard of, Porpora’s protegee? That Poi-pora is 
an unfortunate wretch! I wish I could do something for 
him ; but he is so exacting and so fanciful, that all the 
other artists fear or hate him. When I speak to them of 
him, it is as if I showed them a Medusa^s head. He tells 
one that he sings false, another that his music is good for 
nothing, and a third that he owes his success to intrigue. 
And he expects, with these savage and cutting remarks, 
that people will listen to him and do him justice! What 
the devil! We donT live in the woods. Frankness is no 
longer in fashion, and we cannot lead men by truth. That 
little one is not amiss; I rather like her face. She is very 
young, is she not? They say she had great success at 
Venice. Porpora must bring her to me to-morrow.’^ 

He wishes," said the princess, ^"that you would pro- 
cure her the honor of singing before the empress, and I 
hope that you will not refuse him this favor. I ask it of 
you on my own account." 

There is nothing so easy as to procure her an audience 
of the empress, and it is sufficient that your highness de- 


CONSUELO. 


609 


sires it, to induce me to exert myself to forward the 
matter. But there is a personage more powerful at the 
theater than even the empress. It is Madam Tesi; and 
even if her majesty should take this girl, under her protec- 
tion, I doubt if the engagement would be signed without 
the approval of the all-powerful Tesi.’^ 

They say it is you who spoil those ladies, my lord, and 
that without your indulgence they would not exert so much 
influence.” 

What can I do, princess? Every one is master in his 
own house. Her majesty understands very clearly that if 
she were to interfere by an imperial decree in the affairs of 
the opera, the opera would go all astray. Kow her ma- 
jesty wishes that* the opera should go on well, and that 
people should be amused there. But how could that be, 
if the prima donna takes cold on the very day she is to 
make her debut ? or if the tenor, in the very middle of a 
scene of reconciliation, instead of throwing himself into 
the arms of the bass, gives him a smart cuff on the ear? 
We have quite enough to do to satisfy the caprices of M. 
Oaffariello. We have enjoyed some tranquility since 
Madame Tesi and Madame Holzbauer have come to a good 
understanding with, each other; but if you throw an apple 
of discord upon the stage, our cards will be in a worse con- 
fusion than ever.” 

^^But a third woman is absolutely necessary,” said the 
Venetian ambassador, who warmly protected Porpora and 
his pupil, and here is an admirable one who offers her 
services.” 

If she be admirable, so much the worse for her. She 
would excite the jealousy of Madame Tesi, who is also ad- 
mirable, and wishes to be so alone; she would enrage Ma- 
dame Holzbauer, who wishes to be admirable also ” 

‘‘And who is not so?” retorted the ambassador. 

“ She is very well born; she is a person of good family,” 
replied M. de Kaunitz, diplomatically. 

“But she cannot sing two parts at a time. She must 
needs let the mezzo-soprano take her proper part in the 
operas.” 

“There is a lady called Gorilla who offers herself, and 
who is certainly one of the most beautiful creatures I have 
seen.” 

“Your excellency has alrjeady seen her, then?” 


610 


COmUELO. 


The very day she arrived. But I have not heard her 
yet. She is ill.'’^ 

You will hear this candidate, and you cannot hesitate 
to give her the preference.” 

“ It is possible. I even confess to you that her face, al- 
though less beautiful than that of the other, seems to me 
more agreeable. She has a gentle and modest manner. 
But my preference will do her no good, poor child! She 
must please Madame Tesi, without displeasing Madame 
Holzbaiier; and hitherto, notvvithstanding the close friend- 
ship that unites those two ladies, every thing that has been 
approved of by the one, has always liad the misfortune to 
be strongly disapproved of by the other.” 

very trying crisis, indeed!” said the princess, with 
a slight expression of irony, on seeing the importance 
which these two stateinen attributed to green-room dissen- 
sions. Here is our poor little protegee weighed in the 
balance with Madame Gorilla, and it is M. Caflariello, I 
wager, who will throw his sword into one of the scales.” 

When Consuelo had sung, every one was unanimous in 
declaring that, since Madame Hasse, they had heard noth- 
ing like it; and M. de Kaunitz, approaching her, said with 
a solemn air, ‘‘Young lady; you sing better than Madame 
Tesi ; but let this be in strict confidence, for if such a 
judgment get abroad, you are lost, and will not appear 
this season at Vienna. Be prudent, therefore, very pru- 
dent,” added he, lowering his voice, and seating himself 
beside her. “ You have to struggle against great obstacles, 
and you cannot triumph except by address.” Thereupon the 
great Kaunitz entered into the thousand windings of 
treatrical intrigue, and acquainted her minutely with all 
the little passions of the company, giving her in short a 
complete treatise on diplomatic science with reference to 
the stage. 

Consuelo listened to him, her eyes wide open with aston- 
ishment, and when he had finished, as he had repeated 
twenty times in his harangue the words, “ My last opera, 
the opera which I had played last month,” she imagined 
that she had been mistaken on hearing him announced, 
and that this personage, who was so well versed in all the 
mysteries of the dramatic career, could only be a director 
of the opera, or a fashionable composer. She therefore 
felt quite at ease with him, and talked to him as 


CONSUELO. 


611 


she would have done to a person of her own pro- 
fession. This freedom from constraint rendered her 
more gay and unreserved than the respect due to the all- 
powerful prime minister would have permitted her to be, and 
M. de Kaunitz found her charming. For a whole hour he 
attended to no one else. The margravine was highly 
offended at such a breach of propriety. She hated the 
liberty of great courts, accustomed as she was to the 
solemn formalties of little ones. But she could no longer 
act the margravine, as she was no longer 'one. She was 
tolerated and passably well treated by the empress, because 
she had abjured the Lutheran faith to become a Catholic. 
This act of hypocrisy was sufficient to excuse every sort of 
mis-alliance, even of crime, at the court of Austria; and 
Maria Theresa in acting thus only followed the example 
which her father and mother had given her, of welcoming 
whomsoever wished to escape from the rebuffs and disdain 
of Protestant Germany, by taking refuge within the pale 
of the Romish church. But princess and Catholic tliough 
she was, the margravin was nothing at Vienna, and M. de 
Kaunitz was every thing. 


CHAPTER LXXXIX. 

As soojsr as Consuelo had sung her third air, Porpora, 
who knew the usual custom, made her a signal, rolled up 
his music, and retired with her through a little side door, 
without inconveniencing by his exit those noble persons 
who had been pleased to open their ears to her divine 
accents. 

All goes well,” said he to her, rubbing his hands, as 
soon as they were in the street, where Joseph stood ready 
to escort them with a lighted torch. Kaunitz is an old 
fool who understands how the land lies, and will push you 
on.” 

^^And who is Kaunitz? I did not see him,” said 
Consuelo. 

You did not see him, you stupid girl! He talked with 
you for more than an honr.” 

But it cannot be that little gentleman in a rose and 
silver vest, who retailed so much gossip to me that 1 took 
him for an old box-opener?” 


CONSUELO. 


612 


‘'The very same. What is there surprising about that?^^ 

“It is very surprising to me/M’eplied Consuelo, “and 
such was not the idea I had formed of a statesman. 

“ That is because you do not know how kingdoms are 
governed. If you did, you would consider it very sur- 
prising that statesmen should be any thing else than old 
gossips. However, let us keep silence on that head, and 
play our part in the masquerade of this world. 

“Alas! my dear master,’^ said the young girl, who had 
gradually become pensive while crossing the vast esplanade 
of the rampart, in order to reach the suburb in which their 
modest dwelling was situated, “I was asking myself just 
now, what our profession will become in the midst of such 
a cold and deceitful world. 

“And what do you wish it should become?’^ returned 
Porpora, in his rough and abrupt manner; “it has not to 
become this or that. Happy or unhappy, triumphant or 
despised, it will ever remain the most fascinating as well as 
the noblest vocation on the earth. 

“ Oh, yes!^’ said Consuelo, taking the maestro’s arm and 
causing him to moderate his rapid strides, “I understand 
that the grandeur and dignity of our art cannot be raised 
or lowered by the frivolous caprice or bad taste which 
governs the world. But why should we allow our persons 
to be debased? Why should we expose ourselves to the 
contempt, sometimes even to the more humiliating en- 
couragements, of the profane? If art be sacred, are not 
we also sacred, we who are her priests and her Levites? 
Whydo we not live retired in our garrets, happy in feeling 
and comprehending the beauty of music, and what busi- 
ness have we in those saloons where they whisper together 
during our performance, applaud us absently and un- 
meaningly, and would blush to retain us a moment, and 
treat us like fellow-creatures, after we have done exhibiting 
like actors?” 

“Ha!” growled Porpora, stopping abruptly and striking 
his cane on tlie pavement, “ what foolish vanities and 
what false ideas are coursing through your brain to-day? 
What are we, and what need we be but actors ? They call 
us so in contempt! And what matters it if we be actors 
by taste, by vocation, or by the choice of Heaven, as they 
are great lords by chance, by constraint, or by the 
suffrages of fools ? Ha ! ha ! actors ? All cannot be 


CONSUELO. 


613 


so who wish it. Let them try to he actors, and we 
shall see what a figure they make, those minions 
who think themselves so fine! Let the dowager Mar- 
gravine of Bareith put on the tragic mantle, case her 
huge mis-shapen leg in the buskin, and make three steps 
across the stage, and we shall see a strange princess! And 
what do you think she did at her little court of Erlangen, 
when she thought she reigned there? She tried to dress 
herself like a queen, and moved heaven and earth to play 
a part above her powers. Nature intended her for a 
sutler, and destiny, hy a strange mistake, has made her a 
highness. Therefore she deserved a thousand hisses when 
she preposterously undertook the part. And you, foolish 
child that you are, God made you a queen; he has placed 
upon your brow a diadem of beauty, intelligence, and 
power! Carry you into the midst of a free, intelligent, 
and sensible people (supposing that such exist) and you 
would be at once a queen, because you have, only to show 
yourself and sing, in order to prove that you are queen 
by divine right. Well ! it is not so — the world is consti- 
tuted otherwise. But- being as it is, what do you wish to do 
with it? Chance, caprice, error, and folly govern it. What 
change can we make in it? Its rulers are for the most part 
counterfeit, slovenly, foolish, and ignorant. Thus are we 
placed; we must either die or accommodate ourselves to its 
ways; and as we cannot be monarchs, we are artists and 
have a kingdom of our own. We sing a heavenly language 
which is forbidden to vulgar mortals, we dress ourselves as 
kings and great men, we ascend the stage, we seat ourselves 
upon a fictitious throne, we play a farce, we are actors! 
Corpo Santo! The world sees us, but understands us not ! 
It does not see that we are the true powers of the earth, 
and that our reign is the only true one, while their reign, 
their power, their activity, their majesty, is a parody at 
which the angels weep, and which the people hate and 
curse. And the greatest princes of the earth come to look 
at us, and take lessons in our school ; and admiring us in 
their own hearts as models of true greatness, they strive to 
resemble ns when they exhibit themselves before their sub- 
jects. Go to, the world is turned topsy-turvey, and they 
know it well, they who govern it; and although they them- 
selves may not be aware of it, although they may not con- 
fess it openly, it is easy to see, from the contempt they 


614 


GONSUELO. 


display for our persons and our vocation, that they feel an 
instinctive jealousy of our real superiority. Oh! it is only 
when I am at the theater that I see clearly our true rela- 
tions to society. The spirit of music unseals my eyes, and 
I see behind the footlights a true court, real heroes, lofty 
inspirations; while the miserable idiots who flaunt in the 
boxes upon velvet couches are the real actors. In truth, 
the world is a comedy, and that is the reason I said to you 
just now, my noble daughter, to play our parts in it with 
gravity and decorum, although conscious of the hollow 

pageant which surrounds us on every side Plague take 

the blockhead!” cried the maestro, pushing Joseph from him, 
who, greedy to hear his glowing words, had insensibly ap- 
proached, so as at last even to elbow him ; he treads on 
my toes, and covers me with pitch from his torch. Would 
not you imagine that he understood what we are talking 
about, and wishes to honor us with his approbation?” 

Cross ov^’ to my right, Beppo,” said the young girl, 
making a signal of intelligence; ^^you annoy the maestro 
with your awkwardness.” Then addressing Porpora: ‘‘All 
that you have said, my dear friend,” resumed she, “ though 
noble and inspiring, is shadowy and unreal ; moreover, it 
does not answer what I have urged, for the intoxication of 
gratified pride cannot afford a balm to the wounded heart. 
Little matters it to me that I am born a queen, and yet do 
not reign. The more I see of the great, the more does their 
lot inspire me with compassion ” 

“ Well, is not that what I said?” 

“Yes; but that is not what I asked you. They are 
greedy of show and power. That is at once their folly and 
misery. But we, if we be greater, and better, and wiser 
than they, why do we strive with them— pride against 
pride, royalty against royalty? If we possess more solid ad- 
vantages, if we enjoy more precious and desirable treas- 
ures, what means this petty struggle in which we engage 
with them, and which, subjecting our worth and our 
strength to the mercy of their caprices, reduces us to their 
own level?” 

“ The dignity, the holiness of art require it,” cried the 
maestro. “ They have made the world a battle-ground, 
and our life a martyrdom. We must fight, we must shed 
our blood at every pore, to prove to them, even when dying 
of misery, even when sinking under their hisses and con- 


COmUELO, 


tempt, that we areas demigods compared with them — that we 
are legitimate sovereigns, while they are vile mortals, mean 
and shameless usurpersT^ 

^^Oh! my master, replied Consuelo, shuddering with 
surprise and terror; how you hate them ! And yet you 
bend low before them, you flatter them, you speak them 
fair, and you take your leave by a side door, after having 
served up to them two or three courses of your genius/^ 

Yes, yes!'’^ replied the maestro, rubbing his hands with 
a sardonic smile; ^‘1 mock them, I pay my court to their 
diamonds and crosses, overwhelm them with a few airs 
after my fashion, and turn my back upon them, well 
pleased to eft'ect my escape, and rid myself of their foolish 
faces/^ 

Then,^’ replied Consuelo, art is a combat?” 

^^It is even so; honor to the brave!” 

It is a sarcasm on fools?” 

‘‘Yes, it is a sarcasm ; honor to him whcv can make it 
deep and withering!” 

“ It is a perpetual war — a war to the knife?” 

“ Yes, it is a war; honor to the man whose arm is not 
weary, and whose anger pardons not!” 

“ And it is nothing more?” 

“ It is nothing more in -this life. The glory and the 
crown are for another world.” 

“ It is nothing more in this life, maestro — are you very 
sure?” 

“ Have I not told you?” 

“In that case, it is indeed little,” replied Consuelo, sigh- 
ing, and raising her eyes to the serene and starlit heavens. 

“Do you call that little ? Do you dare to say so, you 
weak and fainting heart ?” exclaimed Porpora, stopping 
afresh, and angrily shaking his pupiFs arm, while the ter- 
rifled Joseph let fall his torch. 

“Yes, I repeat it, it is a paltry and worthless aim,” she 
replied, calmly and flrrnly; “and I told you so once before 
at Venice, on that melancholy and fatal occasion which has 
tinged my whole after life with its somber hue. I have 
not changed my opinion; my heart is not made for such a 
struggle, and it cannot support the double weight of hatred 
and anger. There is not a corner in my bosom where ran- 
cor and vengeance can find a I’esting-place. Far from me 
all evil passions! far from me all feverish excitement! If, 


CON8VELO. 


ei6 

as the sole condition of my possessing genius and gloiy, I 
must yield up my bosom to yon, adieu, genius and glory — 
forever adieu! Crown other brows with laurels, melt other 
hearts with your wondrous magic, you shall never extort a 
sigh of regret from me!^’ 

Joseph expected to see Porpora burst into one of those 
terrific yet ludicrous fits of anger, which prolonged con- 
tradiction was apt to awaken in him, and he had already 
seized Consuelo^s arm, in order to snatch her from the 
maestiVs side, and protect her from those furious ges- 
tures with which he often threatened her, but which led to 
no other result than a smile or a tear. And thus it was 
on the present occasion; Porpora stamped on the ground, 
growled hoarsely like a caged lion, clasped her hand, and 
raised it vehemently toward heaven. But immediately 
afterward he let his arms ‘fall by his side, uttered a deep 
sigh, and preserved an obstinate silence until they reached 
home. Consuelo^s generous and unshaken mildness, en- 
ergy, and uprightness, had inspired him with involuntaiy 
respect. Possibly he reproached himself bitterly in secret, 
but if so, he did not allow it to appear; for he was too old, 
too hardened and bitter, to amend. Nevertheless, when 
Consuelo approached to bid him good-night, he looked at 
her with a melancholy air, and’said, in a subdued voice: 

And is it indeed so? You are no longer an artist, be- 
cause the margravine is an old coquette, and Kaunitz an 
old gossip 

^‘No, my dear master, I did not say so,” replied Con- 
suelo, gaily; I did not say so. I can submit cheerfully 
to the folly and impertinence of the world. ’ I do not re- 
quire either hatred or anger to induce me to do so, but 
only a good conscience and good-humor. I am still an 
artist and shall always be an artist. But I conceive a 
different aim, I shadow out a different destiny for art, than 
the rivalries of pride, and the vengeance of humiliation. 
I have another spring of action and it will sustain me.” 

^MVhat spring? what motive?” exclaimed Porpora, plac- 
ing the light which Joseph had brought, on the table of 
the ante-chamber. 

would make art loved and understood, without mak- 
ing the artist himself either feared or hated.” 

Porpora shrugged his shoulders. 

“Dreams of youth!” said he; “I had the same dreams 
once myself,” 


CONSUELO. 


617 


Well, if they be dreams,’^ replied Oonsiielo, the tri- 
umphs of pride are dreams also. Dream for dream, I like 
mine best. Then I have another motive, my dear master 
— the desire of pleasing and obeying you.^^ 

I do not believe it — I do not believe a word of it!’^ ex- 
claimed Porpora, snatching up the light and turning 
toward the door. But ere he had seized the handle, he 
returned to embrace Consuelo, who waited with smiles this 
reaction of feeling. 

From the kitchen, which adjoined Consuelo’s chamber, 
there ascended a little stair which Ted to a sort of terrace 
some six feet square on the roof. It was here that she 
dried PorpoiVs bands and ruffles when she had done them 
up; it was here that she sometimes climbed to have a chat 
with Beppo, when the maestro retired to rest too soon, or 
earlier than she felt any inclination to sleep. Unable to 
remain in her own room, which was too low and narrow to 
admit a table, and fearing to rouse her old friend by occu- 
pying the ante-chamber, she mounted to the terrace, some- 
times to indulge in lonely reverie and gaze upon the 
heavens, sometimes to relate to her devoted companion 
the little incidents of the day. This evening they had a 
thousand things to say to each other. Consuelo wn-apped 
herself in a pelisse, the hood of which she pulled over her 
head in order to avoid taking cold, and hastened to rejoin 
Beppo, who awaited her with impatience. These nocturnal 
conversations reminded her of her meetings with Anzoleto 
when both were children, but it was no longer the full and 
cloudless moon of Venice which looked down upon them 
with her serene smile, no longer its fantastic and pictur- 
esque roofs which called up such a throng of images, nor 
its nights glowing with love and hope. It was the cold 
and shadowy night of a German land, the dim and vapor- 
shrouded moon of a northern clime, and the sweet and 
healthful pleasure of friendship without the dangerous in- 
toxication of passion. 

When Consuelo had mentioned all that had amused, 
annoyed, or interested her at the margravine’s, it was 
Joseph’s turn to speak. 

^^You have seen the secrets of the court,” said he; 'Hhe 
envelopes and armorial bearing, as it were; but as lackeys 
are accustomed to read their master’s letters, it is in the 
ante-chamber that I have learned the hidden life of the 


618 


C0N8UEL0. 


great. I shall not tell you half the remarks of which the 
margravine was the subject. Oh! if great people only 
knew how their valets speak of them — if in these gorgeous 
saloons, where they parade themselves with so much dig- 
nity, they could hear what was said on the other side of 
the wall of their manners and characters! While Porpora 
just now on the rampart set forth his theory of strife and 
hatred against the lords of the earth, his was not the true 
standard of dignity. His bitterness perverted his judg- 
ment. Ah! you were in the right when you said that he 
reduced himself to their level, in seeking to crush them 
with his contempt. Had he heard the conversation of the 
valets in the ante-chamber, he would have seen that pride 
and contempt of others are the characteristics of base and 
perverse minds. Thus Porpora evinced grandeur, origin- 
ality, and power of mind just now, when he struck the 
pavement with his cane and uttered as his war-cry, 
‘ Courage, strife, bitter irony, eternal vengeance!'’ But your 
wisdom was lovelier than his phrenzy, and I was the more 
struck with it that I had just seen the tribe of domestics — 
timid victims, demoralized slaves — who also whispered in 
my ears with accents not loud yet deep, ‘Trickery! perfidy! 
eternal vengeance and hate, toward our masters, who be- 
lieve themselves our superiors and whose baseness we 
betray!’ I have never been a lackey, Oonsuelo, but since 
I have become one in the same manner as you became a 
boy during our journey, I have reflected, as you may see, 
on the duties of my present situation.” 

“ You have done well, Beppo,” replied Porporina ; 
“ life is a great enigma, and we ought not to overlook the 
slightest fact without commenting aird reflecting upon it. 
It is always so much discovered. But tell me, did you 
learn any thing from the household about this princess, 
the daughter of the margravine, who, of all those starched, 
painted, and frivolous puppets, seemed to me alone natural, 
amiable, and serious?” 

“Oh! yes; not merely this evening, but often, from 
Keller, who waits upon her governess, and is well ac- 
quainted with the facts. What I am going to tell you, 
therefore, is not a story of the ante-chambers, a lackey’s 
tale ; it is a true story of public notoriety. 

“ The Princess of Culmbach was educated at Dresden 
by the Queen of Poland, her aunt, and it was tliere that 


C0N8UEL0. 


619 


Porpora knew her, and gave her, as well as the Grand 
Daiiphiness of Prance, her cousin, some lessons in music. 
The young Princess of Culmbach was as beautiful as she 
was prudent. Brought up by a severe and exacting queen, 
far from a depraved mother, she seemed destined to be 
honored and happy through life. But the dowager mar- 
gravine, the present Countess Hoditz, would not have it 
so. She brought her home, and kept her with her, under 
pretense of marrying her, now to one of her relatives, 
also a margrave of Bareith, now to another, also prince of 
Culmbach ; for the principality of Bareith-Culrnbach 
reckons more princes and margraves than it has villages 
and castles to belong to them. The beauty and modesty 
of the princess aroused in her mother’s breast a violent 
feeling of jealousy ; she burned to disgrace her, and for 
this purpose fabricated the most atrocious slanders against 
her, and by her representations to the other members of 
the family, caused her to be imprisoned in the fortress of 
Plasenbourg, where passed several years in the most rigor- 
ous captivity. She would have been there still, had she 
not been induced by the promise of the Empress Amelia’s 
protection to abjure the Lutheran faith. She yielded, 
however, solely from her ardent wish to recover her liberty, 
and the first use she made of it was to return to the 
religion of her ancestors. The young Margravine of 
Bareith, Wilhelmina of Prussia, received her with kind- 
ness in her little court. She was beloved and respected 
there for her virtues, her mildness, and the correctness of 
her demeanor. If broken-hearted, she is still an admir- 
able creature, and although she is not in favor at the 
court of Vienna, on account of her Lutheranism, no one 
ventures to insult her ; no one, not even the lackeys, 
dares to utter the least slander against her. She is here 
on some business at present, but she usually resides at 
Bareith.” 

‘^That is the reason,” replied Consuelo, ‘"why she 
spoke so much of that country, and wished me to go 
there. Oh! what a history, Joseph, and what a woman 
that Countess Hoditz is! Never— no, never shall Porpora 
drag me to her house again — never shall I sing for her 
more!” 

Nevertheless, you would meet there the best and most 
estimable women at court. Such, they say, is the world. 


620 


GONSUELO, 


Kank and wealth cloak every vice ; and .provided you go 
to church, every thing else is tolerated.^’ 

‘‘This court of Vienna would seem somewhat hypo- 
critical,” said Consuelo. 

“I fear, between ourselves,” replied Joseph, lowering 
his voice, “ that the great Maria Theresa is somewhat of 
a hypocrite herself.” 


CHAPTER XO. 

A FEW days afterward, Porpora having busied himself 
and intrigued in the affair in his own way — that is to say, 
in threatening, scolding, and railing right and left — Con- 
suelo was introduced to the imperial chapel by Reuter 
(Haydn's old enemy), and sang before Maria Theresa the 
part of Judith in the oratorio, Bertulia Liber ata, a poem 
of Metastasio's, set to music by the aforesaid Renter. Con- 
suelo was magnificent, and Maria Theresa deigned to be 
pleased. When the sacred concert was over, Consuelo was 
invited, with the other singers (Caffariello among the 
number), to partake of a collation in the palace, at which 
Reuter was to preside. Hardly had she taken her seat 
between Reuter and Porpora, than a murmur, at once 
hurried and reverential, from an adjoining gallery, caused 
all the guests to start except Consuelo and Caffariello, 
who were busied in discussing a chorus, which the one 
would have in quick, the other in slow' time. “ There is 
no one who can settle the question but the maestro him- 
self,” said Consuelo, turning tow'ard Reuter ; but she no 
longer found Reuter on her right side nor Porpora on her 
left — all the company had risen from the table, and had 
ranged themselves in a row with an air of deep respect. It was 
then that Consuelo found herself standing face to face wdth a 
woman of about thirty years of age, beaming with health 
and energy, dressed in black (the usual costume for 
chapel), and followed by seven children, one of whom she 
held by the hand. This was the heir apparent, the young 
Caesar Joseph II; and this handsome woman, so gracious 
and affable, was no other than Maria Theresa, the empress 
queen. 

Eqqq La QuidittaV’ inquired the empress, turning to 


V0N8UEL0. 


621 


Reuter. ‘' I am highly pleased with you, my child, added 
she, surveying Consuelo from head to foot ; you have 
afforded me real pleasure, and never have I felt so 
deeply the sublime verses of our admirable poet as when 
uttered by your harmonious voice. You pronounce per- 
fectly, a thing to which I attach great importance. What 
age may you be, madamoiselle? You are a Venetian, I 
believe — a pupil of the celebrated Porpora, whom I am 
pleased to see present? You wish to enter the court 
theater? You are formed to shine there ; and Herr Kau- 
nitz takes an interest in your welfare.” 

Having thus interrogated Consuelo without waiting for 
her replies, Maria Theresa, looking alternately at Metas- 
tasio and Kaunitz, who accompanied her, beckoned to one 
of her chamberlains, who presented the songstress witli a 
rich bracelet. Before the latter had time to utter her 
thanks, the empress had already left the saloon, and the 
splendor of royalty had vanished from her sight. The 
empress retired slowly, followed by her train of princesses 
and archduchesses, addressing a kind word to each of the 
musicians as she passed them, and leaving behind her as it 
were a luminous track, which dazzled the eyes of the spec- 
tators with her glory and her power. Caffariello was the 
only one who pretended to preserve his equanimity. He 
resumed the discussion just at the point where he had left 
off, and Consuelo, thrusting the bracelet in her pocket 
without so much as looking at it, met him with the same 
objections, to the astonishment and scandal of the other 
musicians, who, bewildered by the fascination of the im- 
perial presence, could think of nothing else for the rest of 
the day. We need hardly add that Porpora, both from 
habit and from principle, was an exception to this general 
prostration. He knew how to conduct himself respectfully 
toward the sovereign, but in his heart he hated and de- 
spised slaves. Reuter, now appealed to by Caffariello on 
the subject of the debated chorus, screwed up his lips in a 
hypocritical style, and it was only on being repeatedly 
questioned by Caffariello that he at last replied, with 
marked coldness: 

confess, sir, that I did not follow your conversation. 
When Maria Theresa is present I forget the whole world; 
and even long after she has disappeared I remain under 
t he influence of an emotion which does not suffer me to 
think of myself.” 


m 


CONSUELO. 


Mademoiselle does not appear at all dazzled by the 
honor she has procured said Holzbaiier, who was pres- 
ent, and whose veneration for royalty evinced more acute- 
ness and reserve than that of Reuter. It would seem an 
every-day matter with you, signora, to converse with 
crowned heads ; one would think you had done nothing 
else all your life.” 

never spoke to a crowned head in my life,” replied 
Consuelo, quietly, and without seeming to perceive the 
ill-natnre of Holzbaiier’s insinuations, “ and her majesty 
did not procure me this felicity, for her mode of question- 
ing denied me the honor as well as the trouble of re- 
plying.” 

You would perhaps have wished to chat a little with 
the empress,” said Porpora, in a reproving tone. 

^'No indeed,” replied Consuelo, never thought of 
such a thing.” 

^'Mademoiselle is more careless than ambitious,” ob- 
served Reuter, with cold disdain. 

" Master Reuter,” said Consuelo, with frank confidence, 
'■ " are you dissatisfied with the manner in which I rendered 
your music?” 

Reuter confessed that no person had ever sung it better, 
even under the reign of the august and ever-to-be-lamented 
Charles VI. 

" In that case,” said Consuelo, " do not reproach me 
with indifference. I am ambitious to satisfy my masters, 
to perform my part well ; what other ambition could I 
have? What other would not be absurd and ridiculous for 
me to entertain?” 

"Oh ! you are too modest, mademoiselle,” said HoLz- 
baiier; " there is no ambition too lofty for talents such a>s 
yours.” 

"I accept that as a polite compliment,” replied Con- 
suelo; "but I shall not believe I have satisfied you till the 
day when you invite me to sing in the court theater.” 

Holzbaiier, caught in his own trap, pretended to cough, 
in order to avoid the necessity of replying, and got out of 
the scrape by a courteous and respectful bow; then bring- 
ing back the conversation to the point at which it had 
commenced: 

" Your calmness and disinterestedness,” said he, "are 
truly unexampled; you do not seem even to have examined 
her majesty’s beautiful present.” 


OONStTELO. 


m 


^^Ah! it is true,” said Consuelo, drawing it from her 
pocket, and handing it round for the inspection of her 
neighbors, who were eager to estimate its value. 

It will serve to buy wood for my dear master’s stove,” 
thought Consuelo, if I have no engagement this winter. 
A little additional comfort in lodging will stand us in bet- 
ter stead than toys and trinkets.” 

'MVhat a celestial beauty is her majesty!” said Keuter, 
with a touching sigh, as he glanced a hard and sidelong 
look at Consuelo. 

Yes, she seems very beautiful,” replied Consuelo, not 
understanding and not heeding Porpora’s nudges with his 
elbow. 

Seems?” replied Reuter; ^^you are hard to please!” 

‘^1 scarcely saw her, she passed so rapidly.” 

But then her dazzling intellect — the genius which is 
revealed at every word she utters!” 

had scarcely time to hear her, she spoke so little.” 

You must be made of brass or adamant, mademoiselle; 
I do not know what would touch your feelings!” 

felt deeply touched when singing your Judith,” re- 
plied Consuelo, who could give a tolerably cutting retort 
when occasion required it, and who began to comprehend 
the unfriendly feelings of the Viennese composers toward 
her. 

This girl has wit and spirit, with all her simplicity,” 
whispered Ilolzbauer to Master Reuter. 

‘‘Yes, she is of Porpora’s school,” replied the other; 
“nothing but disdain and mockery.” 

“ If we do not take care, the old recitatives and such 
antiquated stuff will flood us worse than ever,” replied 
Ilolzbauer; “ but do not fear, I know how to prevent this 
minion of Porpora’s from ever raising her voice in my 
theater.” 

When they rose from table, Caffariello whispered in 
Consuelo’s ear: 

“ Look you, my child ; these fellows are all a set of 
paltry scoundrels. You will have great difficulty in mak- 
ing your way here. They are all against you. They 
would oppose me too if they dared.” 

“ And what have we done to annoy them ?” said the 
astonished Consuelo. 

‘'"We were both educated by the greatest professor of 


C24 


CONSUFXO. 


singing on earth. They and their creatures are our natural 
enemies. They will prejudice Maria Theresa against you, 
and all you have said here will be repeated with malicious 
commentaries and additions. They will tell her that you 
did not think her beautiful, and that you despised her gift 
as mean and unworthy of yon. I know their tricks. Take 
courage, nevertheless — the opinion of Cafifariello as re- 
gards music is well worth that of Maria Theresa. 

Between the ill-nature of the 0116 party and the folly 
of the others, I am fairly meshed,” thought Consuelo to 
herself. ^^0! Porpora !” exclaimed she in her heart, ‘‘1 
will do all that I can to return to the stage ; but, 0 
Albert ! Heaven grant that I may be unsuccessful in my 
attempts !” 

The following day Master Porpora, having business in 
the city which would occupy him during the whole day, 
and finding Consuelo rather pale, requested her to take a 
walk outside the town to the Spinnerin am Krcutz with 
KellePs wife, who had oifered to accompany her whenever 
she wished. As soon as the maestro had gone out : 

Beppo,” said the young girl, go quickly and hire a 
carriage, and we will both take a drive to see Angela and 
thank the canon. We promised to do so earlier, but my 
cold must be our excuse.” 

^^And in what dress will you present yourself to the 
w'orthy man ?” said Beppo. 

In the one I have on,” replied she. ^‘The canon 
must know and receive me under my real character.” 

The excellent canon ! I shall sincerely rejoice to see 
him again.” 

^‘And I, too.” 

^^The poor canon! it vexes me to think ” 

What ?” 

That his head will be completely turned.” 

""And why so? Am I a goddess? I did not flatter my- 
self so far.” 

"" Consuelo, remember he was almost crazy when we 
left him 1” 

""And I tell you that it is only necessary for him to 
know that I am a woman, and to see me as I really am, to 
recover all his self-possession, and again become what God 
made him — a reasonable man.” 

""It IS true that the dress does something. Therefore, 


CONSUELO. 


625 


when I saw you again transformed into a young lady, after 
having been accustomed for a fortnight to treat you as a 
boy, 1 experienced a vague sense of terror and constraint 
for which I cannot account; and it is certain that during 
our journey if you had permitted me to fall in love with 
you But 1 am talking nonsense/^ 

Certainly, Joseph, it is nonsense, and besides, you 
lose time while you are chatting. It is ten leagues to the 
priory and back. It is now eight o’clock, and we must be 
back here again by seven in the evening, in time for the 
maestro’s supper.” 

Three hours afterward Beppo and his companion 
alighted at the gate of the priory. The day was lovely, 
and the canon was contemplating his flowers with a melan- 
choly air. When he saw Joseph, he uttered a cry of joy 
and advanced hastily to meet him, but he remained speech- 
less on recognizing his dear Bertoni in a woman’s dress. 

Bertoni ! my well-beloved child !” cried the simple and 
venerable old man, what means this masquerade, and 
why do you appear disguised in this manner? We are 
not now in the carnival.” 

My respected and revered friend,” replied Oonsuelo, 
kissing his hand, ‘^you must forgive me for having 
deceived you. I never was a boy; Bertoni never existed, 
and when I had the happiness of becoming acquainted 
with you, I was really disguised.” 

We thought,” said Joseph, who feared to behold the 
canon’s consternation change to dissatisfaction, that 
your reverence was not the dupe of our innocent artiflce. 
That disguise was not assumed to deceive you; it was a 
necessity imposed upon us by circumstances, and we have 
always thought that your reverence had the generosity and 
the delicacy to overlook it.” 

You thought so ?” resumed the canon, astonished and 
terrifled; and you, Bertoni — I should say, mademoiselle 
— did you think so too ?” 

‘^No, reverend sir,” replied Oonsuelo, ^^I did not think 
so for an instant. I saw plainly that your reverence had 
not the least suspicion of the truth.” 

“ And you only did me justice,” said the canon, in a tone 
of severity tempered with regret, ‘^I cannot tamper with 
my good faith, and if I had guessed your sex, I should never 
have thought of insisting, as I did, on your remaining with 


626 


CONSUELO. 


me. There has indeed been circulated in the neighboring 
village, and even among my own flock, a vague report, a 
suspicion which made me smile, so determined was I 
to deceive myself respecting you. ‘ It was said that one 
of the two little musicians who sang the mass on 
the day of our patron saint^s f 4 te, was a woman in dis- 
guise. And then it was asserted that this report was only 
a malicious falsehood circulated by the shoemaker Gottlieb 
to annoy and vex the curate. I myself contradicted it 
stoutly. You see that I was completely your dupe, and 
that no one could be more sincerely mistaken. 

There has been a great mistake, sir,^^ replied Consuelo 
with modest dignity; ‘^but their has been no dupe. I do 
not think I departed for a single instant from the respect 
due to you, nor from the proprieties which sincerity and 
self respect impose. I was overtaken by night on the’ road, 
without shelter, overcome by thirst and fatigue, after a 
long journey on foot. You would not have refused 
hospitality to a beggar woman under such circumstances. 
You granted it to me from your love of music, and I paid 
my scot in kind. If I did not depart the next day, in 
spite of your persuasions, it was owing to unforeseen cir- 
cumstances which imperatively demanded of me a para- 
mount duty. My enemy, my rival, my persecutor, fell as 
it were from th§ clouds at your gate, and, deprived of the 
care and assistance of others, had a right to my assistance 
and my care. Your reverence must well remember the 
rest; you know that if I took advantage of your benevo- 
lence, it was not on my own account. You know also that 
I departed as soon as my duty was accomplished, and if I 
return to-day to thank you in person for the kindness you 
have shown me, the reason is, that sincerity and good faith 
made it incumbent on me to be myself the means of un- 
deceiving you and giving you the explanations which were 
necessary to your digiiity as well as my own.^^ 

In all this,^'’ said the canon, half convinced, there 
is something very mysterious and extraordinary. You say 
that the unfortunate woman, whose child I have adopted, 
was your enemy, your rival. Who are 3^011 then yourself, 
Bertoni? — Forgive me if that name continually recurs to 
my lips, and tell me how I must call you from henceforth.” 

"‘ I am called tlie Porporina,” replied Consuelo; ‘‘I am 
the pupil of Porpora; I am a singer. I belong to the 


CONSUELO. 


627 


Ah! yes;’’ said the canon with a deep sigh. “ I ought 
to have guessed so from the manner in which you per- 
formed your part; and as to your prodigious talent for 
music, I am no longer astonished at it; you have been 
educated in a good school. May I ask if my friend Beppo 
is your brother or — your husband?” 

Neither the one nor the other. He is my brother by 
affection. No closer tie binds us, reverend sir; •and if my 
soul had not felt itself as chaste as your own, I should not 
have stained by my presence the sanctity of your dwelling.” 

Consuelo’s manner was in truth irresistible, and the 
canon yielded to its power, as pure and upright minds 
always do to the words of sincerity. He felt as if an 
enormous weight had been taken from his breast, and, 
while walking slowly between his two young proteges, he 
questioned Consuelo with a returning gentleness and 
affectionate sympathy against which he had gradually 
ceased to struggle. She related to him rapidly, and 
without mentioning any names, the principal occurrences 
of her life; her betrothal at the death-bed of her mother 
to Anzoleto, the latter’s infidelity, the hatred of Gorilla, 
Zustiniani’s outrageous designs, Porpora’s advice, her de- 
parture from Venice, the attachment which Albert had 
conceived for her, the offers of the Rudolstadt family, her 
own hesitations and scruples, her flight from the Castle of 
the Giants, her meeting with Joseph Haydn, her journey, 
her terror and compassion at Gorilla’s bed of suffering, 
her gratitude for the protection granted by the canon to 
Anzoleto’s child, and lastly her arrival at Vienna, and even 
her interview with Maria Theresa the day before. Joseph 
had not until then known all Consuelo’s history, she had 
never spoken to him of Anzoleto, and the few words she 
had just said of her past affection for that wretched man 
did not strike him forcibly; but her /generosity toward 
Gorilla, and her solicitude for the child, made such a deep 
impression on him, that he turned away to hide his tears. 
The canon did not attempt to restrain his. Consuelo’s 
narrative, concise, energetic, and sincere, produced the 
same effect upon him as if he had read a stirring romance; 
but this was a style of reading which the canon had never 
ventured on, and this was the first time in his life that he 
had been thus initiated into the feelings and emotions of 
.others, as evinced in their lives and actions, He seated 


628 


CONSUELO. 


himself upon a bench in order to listen better; and when 
the young girl had finished all, he exclaimed, If all you 
have said is true, as I believe and feel in my heart it is, 
you are truly a sweet and angelic creature ! You are 
St. Cecilia come once more to visit the earth! I confess 
to you frankly,” added he, after an instant of silence and 
reflection, that I never had any prejudice against the 
stage, and you prove to me that one^s salvation can be 
secured there as well as elsewhere. Certainly if you 
continue to be as pure and generous as you have been 
hitherto, you will have deserved your reward in Heaven, 
my dear Bertoni! — I speak with perfect sincerity, my dear 
Porporina !” 

‘‘And now, sir,” said Consuelo, rising, “give me some 
news of Angela before I take leave of your reverence.” 

“Angela is very well, and thrives wonderfully,” replied 
the canon. “ My gardener’s wife takes the greatest care 
of her, and I see her constantly, as the good woman carries 
her about in my garden. A flower herself, she will shoot 
up in the midst of flowers, under my eye, and when the 
time to make her a Christian shall have come, I will not 
spare either time or pains on her education. Trust me 
for that care, my children. What I have promised in the 
face of Heaven I will religiously perform. It seems as if 
her mother did not intend to dispute this care with me, 
for though she is at Vienna, she has not once sent to ask 
tidings of her daughter.” 

“ She may have done so indirectly, and without your 
knowledge,” replied Consuelo; “I do not believe that 
a mother can be so completely indifferent about her 
offspring. But Corilla is soliciting an engagement at 
the court theater. She knows that her majesty is 
very severe, and does not grant her protection to 
persons of a blemished reputation. She has an interest 
in concealing her faults, at least until her engage- 
ment is signed. Let us keep her secret, therefore.” 

“ And yet she is opposing you!” cried Joseph; “ and they 
say that she will succeed by her intrigues — that she has 
already spread unfounded and scandalous reports concern- 
ing you in the city. The matter was spoken of at the em- 
bassy; so Keller told me. Your friends were indignant at 
it, but they feared lest she should persuade Herr Kaunitz, 
who willingly listens to such stories, and who cannot say 
enough in praise of Gorilla’s beauty.” 


CONSVELO. 


m 


'^ Did she act so?’’ said Consuelo, reddening with indig- 
nation. Then she added calmly: '‘To be sure, I might 
have expected it.” 

" But there needs only one word to counteract her cal- 
umnies,” returned Joseph, "and that word I will say my- 
self! I will say that — — ” 

"You will say nothing, Beppo; it would be mean and 
cruel. You will not speak it either, reverend sir, and if 
I nourished a desire to say it, you would prevent me, 
would you not?” 

"Upright and pious girl!” cried the canon. "But reflect 
that this secret cannot be one long. There are servants 
and country people enough, who have known and can 
report the fact, to inform the world of the real state of the 
case.” 

"Before that time Gorilla or myself will be engaged. I 
should not wish to succeed in the contest by an act of ven- 
geance. Until then, Beppo, keep silence, or I withdraw 
from you my esteem and my friendship. And now, sir, 
farewell. Tell me that you forgive me, grant me once 
more the pleasure of pressing that kind and fatherly hand, 
and allow me to depart before your people have seen me in 
this dress.” 

" My people may say what they please, and my benefice 
may resort to my successor, if so it please Heaven! I have 
just received an inheritance which gives me courage to 
brave the thunders of the Ordinary. So, do not take me 
for a saint, my children; I am tired of constantly obeying 
and living under restraint; I wish to live honestly, and 
without childish and unmanly terrors. Since I am no 
longer under Bridget’s sway, and especially since I see my- 
self the possessor of an independent fortune, I feel as brave 
as a lion. So now then come and breakfast with me; we 
will baptize Angela afterward, and then have some music 
until dinner.” 

He led the way to the priory. " Here, Andre! Joseph!” 
cried he to his servants on entering; " come and see the 
Signor Bertoni metamorphosed into a lady. You did not 
expect that? well, nor I either! But make haste to recover 
from your surprise, and prepare breakfast quickly,” 

Tlie repast was exquisite, and our young people saw that 
if sei-ious changes had taken place in the canon’s mind, 
they had not operated against his habits of good cheer, 


eao 


COmUELO. 


After breakfast the child was carried to the chapel of 
the priory. The canon put off his quilted dressing-gown, 
arrayed himself in cassock and surplice, and performed the 
ceremony. Joseph and Oonsuelo assumed the office of 
godfather and godmother, and the name of Angela was 
finally bestowed on the little girl. The rest of the after- 
noon was consecrated to music, and .then followed the 
leave-takings. The canon regretted that he could not de- 
tain his friends for dinner, but he yielded to their reasons, 
and consoled himself with the . idea of seeing them again 
at Vienna, whither he intended to proceed in a short time 
to spend a part of the winter. While their carriage was 
getting ready, he conducted them to his green-house, that 
they might admire several new plants with which he had 
enriched his collection. It was already twilight, but the 
canon, whose sense of smell was exquisite, had no sooner 
taken a few steps under the glass roof of his transparent 
palace than he cried out: ‘‘ I perceive an extraordinary per- 
fume here! Can i\\Q glaieul vanilla have flowered? But 
no, that is not the odor of my glaieul. The strelitza is not 
fragrant — the cyclamens have a less pure and less pene- 
trating aroma. What can have happened here? If my 
volkameria, alas! were not dead, I should think it was its 
fragrance that I inhaled! My poor plant! But I will not 
think of it again.” 

But suddenly the canon uttered a cry of surprise and ad- 
miration on beholding in a box, before him, the most 
magnificent volkameria he had ever seen in his life, all 
covered with its clusters of small white roses tinged with 
rose color, the sweet perfume of which filled the green- 
house and overpowered all the vulgar scents around. Is 
this a miracle? From what celestial garden has this lovely 
' flower descended?” cried he, in a fit of poetic rapture. 

We brought it in our carriage with the utmost care,” 
replied Consuelo; ‘‘and allow us to offer it to you as some 
reparation for a most unfriendly wish respecting its prede- 
cessor, which fell from my lips on a certain occasion, and 
which I shall repent all my life.” 

“ Oh, my dear daughter! what a gift, and with what 
delicacy is it offered!” said the canon, much affected. “ Oh 
my dear volkameria! like all my especial favorites you 
shall have a particular name, and I shall call you Bertoni, 
in memory of one who is no longer in being, and whom I 
loved with all the affection of a father.” 


GONSUELO. 


631 


My dearest father,” said Consuelo, clasping his hand, 
'‘you must learn to love your daughters as well as your 
sons. Angela is not a boy ” 

"And Porporina is my daughter also!” said the canon; 
"yes, my daughter; yes, yes, my dear daughter!” repeated 
he, looking alternately at Consuelo and the Volkarneria 
Bertoni, with eyes swimming in tears. 

By six o’clock, Joseph and Consuelo were once more in 
their lodging. The carriage had dropped them at the 
entrance of the suburb, and nothing betrayed their inno- 
cent escapade. Porpora, however, was a little astonished 
that Consuelo had not a better appetite after her walk in 
the lovely meadows which surrounded the capital of the 
empire. The canon’s breakfast had probably make Con- 
suelo rather dainty that day. But the free air and exercise 
procured her an excellent sleep, and on the morrow she 
felt herself in better voice and sj)irits than she had been 
since her arrival at Vienna. 


CHAPTER XCI. 

In’ the uncertainty under which she labored respecting 
her future fate, Consuelo, hoping perhaps by such a step 
to find some comfort or assistance, at last decided to write 
to Count Christian of Rudolstadt, and inform him of her 
position with respect to Porpora, of the efforts which the 
latter was making to bring her again upon the stage, and 
of the hope she cherished of seeing tliem fail. She spoke 
to him with perfect sincerity, expatiated upon the grati- 
tude, devoted ness, and submission which she owed to 
her old master, and, confiding to him the fears she 
entertained respecting Albert, requested him to dictate 
to her immediately the letter she ought to write to the lat- 
ter, in order to calm his mind and inspire him with confi- 
dence toward her. She concluded with these words : "1 
requested time’from your lordship to examine my heart and 
to decide. I 'am resolved to keep my word, and I can 
safely affirm that I feel sufficient strength in myself to 
close my heart and mind to all conflicting fancies, as well 
as to all new affections. And yet, if I once more return 
to the^ stage, I take a step which is in appearance aninfrac- 


632 


CONSUELO. 


tion of my promises, a formal renunciation of the hope of 
keeping them. I wish your lordship to judge of my con- 
duct, or rather of the circumstances in which I am unfor- 
tunately placed. I see no means of escaping from them 
without being guilty of a dereliction of duty. I anxiously 
await your advice, which is so superior to any judgment I 
could myself form, but which I cannot think will contra- 
dict the dictates of my conscience. 

When this letter was sealed and intrusted to Joseph to 
despatch, Consuelo felt more tranquil, as generally happens 
when, in a difficult crisis, we have found some means of 
gaining time, and putting off the decisive moment. She 
therefore prepared to accompany Porpora on a visit, in his 
opinion important and decisive, to the celebrated and highly 
praised imperial poet, the Abbe Metastasio. 

This illustrious personage was about fifty years of age, 
and possessed a good figure and captivating manners. He 
conversed admirably, and Consuelo would have been much 
prepossessed in his favor if, on her way to the mansion 
which Keller and the poet inhabited jointly, though at dif- 
ferent altitudes, she had not had the following conversa- 
tion with Porpora: 

“Consuelo’^ (it is Porpora who is speaking), ^^you are going 
to see a handsome, keen looking man, with a fresh color 
•and a constant smile upon his lips, and who, nevertheless, 
would have you believe that he is the prey of a cruel and 
dangerous disease ; a man who eats, drinks, sleejDS, 
grows fat like his neighbors, and who, nevertheless, 
imagines that he is sleepless, starving, the victim of ex- 
haustion and decline. Do not be so -awkward, when he 
laments his maladies, as to tell him that he has no appear- 
ance of ill health, that his complexion is good, or any 
other similar remark; for he must be sympathized with and 
bewailed beforehand. Neither must you speak to him of 
death or the dead; for he is a coward, and fears to die. 
And yet do not be so silly as to say on leaving him that you 
hope his precious health will soon be restored ; for he 
wishes it to be imagined that he is dying, and if he could 
succeed in making others believe that he is at the point of 
death, he would be quite satisfied, so that he does not think 
so himself. 

“What a silly idea!” replied Consuelo, “and how un- 
worthy of a great man! But what am I to say to him, if I 
am neither to speak of death nor recovery?” 


CONSUELO. 


633 


‘"Oh! you must talk to him about his illness, ask him a 
thousand questions, listen to the detail of all his sufferings, 
and wind up with telling him that he does not take suffi- 
cient care of himself, that he does not attend to his health, 
and that he works too hard. In this manner he may be 
rendered favorable to us.” 

“ But are we not going to ask him for a poem, which 
you may set to music, and which I may sing? How can we 
advise him then not to write, and at the same time urge 
him to write as fast as possible?” 

“ All that can be easily managed in the course of conver- 
sation; it is only necessary to bring things into a proper 
train.” 

The maestro wished his pupil to make herself agreeable 
to the poet, but his sarcastic habits would not suffer him to 
conceal the foibles of others, and he committed the error 
of awakening Oonsuelo^s clear-sighted judgment, and in- 
ducing her to regard him with that sort of inward con- 
tempt which was not likely to render her amiable or sym- 
pathizing toward him. Incapable of adulation or deceit, it 
pained her to see Porpora hypocritically bewail the sorrows 
of the poet, and ridicule him unmercifully under the seem- 
ing garb of sympathy for his imaginary ills. She blushed 
repeatedly, and could not help remaining silent, notwith- 
standing the signs which the master gave her to speak. 

Consuelo^s reputation had begun to spread through 
Vienna, she had sung in several saloons, and her admission 
to the Italian theater was a subject of discussion in the 
musical world. Metastasio was all-powerful ; and should 
Consuelo secure his sympathy by adroitly flattering his self- 
love, he might conflde to Porpora the care of setting to 
music his Attileo Regolo, which he had kept in his port- 
folio for several years. It was necessary for this purpose that 
the pupil should plead for her master, for the maestro was 
far from a favorite with the imperial poet. Matastasio was 
not an Italian for nothing, and Italians are not readily de- 
ceived respecting each other. He was well aware Porpora 
had no great admiration for his dramatic genius, and that, 
right or wrong, he had censured oftener than once his 
timidity, his selfishness, and false sensibility. Consuelo’s 
icy reserve, and the slight interest she seemed to take in 
hfs disease, did not appear to him what they really were, 
the result of a feeling of respectful pity. It seemed no 


634 


CONStTELO. 


better tlian an insult, and if he had not been a slave to 
propriety and politeness, he would have refused plumply 
to hear her sing. He consented, however, after some little 
affectation, alleging as his excuse the state of his nerves, 
and the risk he ran of being excited. He had heard Con- 
suelo sing his oratorio of Judith, but it was necei^sary he 
should form some idea of her dramatic powers, and Por- 
pora insisted much. 

But what am I to do, and how am I to sing,” whis- 
pered Oonsuelo, if he is not to be excited?” 

‘^On the contrary, he must be excited,” replied the 
maestro; he loves dearly to be roused from his torpor ; 
for when he is so, he feels in a better vein for writing.” 

Oonsuelo sung an air from Achillo in Sciro, Metastasio’s 
best opera, which had been set to music by Caldara in 
1736, and performed at the marriage festival of Maria 
Theresa. Metastasio was as much struck with her voice 
and manner as on the first occasion, but he was resolved 
to maintain the same cold and rigid silence that she had 
displayed during the recital of his symptoms. But he 
could not succeed; for the worthy man was an artist in 
spite of every thing, and when the accents of a poet’s muse 
and the remembrance of his triumphs are nobly inter- 
preted, a cord is touched which thrills through his whole 
being, and rancor cannot hold its ground. 

The abbe tried to defend himself against this potent 
charm. He coughed repeatedly, fidgetted on his chair 
like a man in the extremity of suffering, then all at once, 
carried away by his emotion, he hid his face in his hand- 
kerchief and sobbed aloud. Porpora, concealed behind 
the arm-chair, motioned to Oonsuelo not to spare him, and 
rubbed his hands with malicious glee. 

These tears, which flowed so abundantly and so earn- 
estly, immediately reconciled Oonsuelo to the pusillanim- 
ous abbe. As soon as she had finished, she approached 
and kissed his hand, saying with evident emotion: 

‘"Alas! sir, I should be proud and happy to have pro- 
duced an impression on your feeling, did it not inspire me 
with remorse. The dread of injuring your health poisons 
my joy.” 

“Ah! my dear child,” replied the abbe, completely won 
over, “you do not — you cannot, know the mingled pleas- 
ure and suffering that you inflict upon me. I never till 


GONSUELO. 


635 


this moment heard a voice which reminded me of my dear 
Marianna; and you have so recalled her manner and ex- 
pression, that I imagined I was listening to herself. Ah! 
you have pierced my heart!’’ And he began to sob 
afresh. 

His lordship speaks of a celebrated person whom you 
ought certainly to place before you as a model,” said Por- 
pora to his pupil, ‘‘ the illustrious and incomparable Mari- 
anna Bulgarini.” 

‘‘What! the Romanina?” exclaimed Consuelo. “Ah! I 
heard her in my childhood at Venice; she is the first who 
made a great impression on me, and I shall never forget 
her!” 

“ I see that you have indeed heard her, and that she has 
deeply impressed yon,” replied Metastasio. “Ah! young 
girl, imitate her in every thing, in her acting as in her 
singing, in her goodness of mind as in her greatness of 
character, in her power as in her tenderness ! Ah ! she 
was beautiful, when she represented the divine Venus in 
my first opera at Rome! I owe to her my earliest 
triumphs.” 

“And it is to your lordship that her'most brilliant suc- 
cess was due,” said Porpora. 

“True, we assisted each other. But nothing could 
repay the obligation I feel toward her. Never was there 
such affection, such heroic perseverance and delicate atten- 
tion, before in human breast. Angel of my soul! I shall 
lament thee forever, and my only hope is to meet thee 
again!” 

Here the abbe wept afresh. Consuelo was deeply af- 
fected. Porpora pretended to be so ; but in spite of him- 
self his countenance remained ironical and disdainful. 
Consuelo observed it, and resolved that she would reproach 
him for his coldness and distrust. As to Metastasio, he 
only observed what indeed he wished to observe, the ten- 
derness and admiration displayed by the good Consuelo. 
He was possessed of the true distinguishing peculiarity of 
poets, for his tears flowed more readily before spectators 
than in the privacy of his chamber, and never did he feel 
his affections and his griefs so deeply as when he eloquently 
detailed them to an admiring audience. Carried away by 
his emotion, he related to Consuelo the history of that por- 
tion of his youtli in which Romanina had borne so large a 


636 


C0N8UEL0. 


part, the services which this gentle creature had rendered 
him, her filial devotion to his old parents, the sacrifice to 
which she submitted in separating from him that he might 
be at liberty to seek advancement in Vienna; and when he 
came to the parting scene — when he told in the choicest 
and most tender terms, how his dear Marianna, with a 
broken heart and a bosom torn with sobs, had exhorted 
him to leave her — to think only of himself — he exclaimed: 

Oh! if she had foreseen what awaited me when far from 
her — if she could have known the grief, the fears, the an- 
guish, the apprehensions, the sinking of the heart, and 
lastly, my terrible disease — she would have spared herself 
and me! Alas, I was far from thinking that our farewell 
was an eternal one — that we should never meet again on 
earth I” 

^^How? you never met again?^^ said Consuelo, whose 
eyes were bathed with tears, for Metastasio’s manner 
was touching in the extreme. She never came to Vi- 
enna ?’" 

No, she never came,” replied the abbe in a heart-rend- 
ing tone. 

After such devotion she had not courage to meet you 
again?” resumed Consuelo, to whom Porpora was making 
in vain the most hideous grimaces. 

Metastasio did not reply; he seemed lost in thought. 

But she may yet come?” continued the kind-hearted 
Consuelo. ^^Ah! she will surely come, and this happy 
event will make you well again.” 

The abbe- grew pale, and made a gesture indicative of 
terror. The maestro coughed with all his might, and 
Consuelo, suddenly recollecting that Romanina had been 
dead upward of ten years, became aware of the awkward- 
ness of which she had been guilty in reminding Metas- 
tasio of the death of his well-beloved, whom he only 
desired to meet beyond the grave. She bit her lips 
with vexation, and soon after took her leave with Porpora, 
who only obtained vague promises and forced civilities as 
usual. 

/^What have you done, numskull?” exclaimed he to 
Consuelo, as soon as they were outside. 

Yes, I see I was very foolish. I forgot that Romanina 
was no longer alive. But do you really think, my dear 
master, that this tender-hearted and unhappy man is so 


CONSUELO. 


637 


attached to life as you are pleased to say? I fancy his want 
of sleep is the principal cause of his disease, and that if some 
superstitious terror makes him dread his last moments, he 
is not the less sincerely and painfully wearied of life/^ 

Child!’^ said Porpora; “ people are never tired of life 
when they are rich, honored, paid court to, and in good 
health; when they have no other cares, no other passions 
than these, it is but a lying farce for them to rave at 
existence.’^ 

Do not say he has had no others. He loved his Mari- 
anna, and I can very well imagine why he gave this cher- 
ished name to his grandchild, and to his niece, Marianna 
Martinez. Consuelo had almost said Joseph's pupil, but 
she suddenly checked herself. 

‘‘Go on,'" said Porpora, “his grandchild, his niece, or 
his daughter." 

“ So it is said, but it is of no moment to me." 

“ It would prove at least that the dear abbe quickly 
consoled himself for the absence of his beloved. When you 
asked him — plague take your stupidity — why his dear Mari- 
anna did not rejoin him, he did ’not answer you, but I shall 
answer in his place. Romanina had indeed rendered him the 
greatest services which a man could accept at the hands of 
a woman. She had supported him, lodged, clothed, suc- 
cored, assisted him on all occasions, and had got him ap- 
pointed cesareo. She aided, befriended, nursed, and 
lavished every care upon his aged parents. All that is 
perfectly true. For Marianna had a great soul; I knew 
her well. But it is also perfectly true that she wished to 
join him again by procuring an engagement at the court 
theater, and still more, it is equally true that the abbe 
})aid no attention to her wishes, and never acceded to 
them. There certainly was the tenderest correspondence 
in the world carried on between them. I have no doubt 
that his letters were masterpieces. He knew very well they 
would be printed. But although he wrote to his dilettis- 
sima arnica that he sighed for the day when they should 
meet again, and that it was his constant effort to 
bring about that happy time, the cunning fox managed 
things so that the unhappy songstress should not disturb 
his illustrious and lucrative attachment to a third Mari- 
anna— for this name was fated to be a fortunate one with 
him — the noble and puissant Countess of Athan, the fav- 


038 


dONSUELO. 


orite of the last Cesar. Report says that there was a secret 
marriage; and I think therefore it is rather bad taste to 
tear his hair for poor Romanina, who died of a broken heart 
while in the meantime he wrote madrigals in honor of the 
charms of the court beau ties. 

You criticise and judge his conduct very severely/^ re- 
plied Oonsuelo, mournfully. 

I only repeat what the world says — I invent nothing. 
I am merely the echo of public opinion. Come, there are 
more actors than those who walk the stage; it is an old 
saying.” 

The public voice is not alwa5's the most enlightened, 
and never the most charitable. Ah! my dear master, I 
cannot believe that a man of such talent and renown 
should be no better than a mere actor. I saw him weep 
bitter and heartfelt tears, and even if he has cause to re- 
proach himself for having too quickly forgotten his Mari- 
anna, his remorse would only add to his present grief. In 
all this I would rather consider him as weak than base. 
They made him an abbe, and loaded him with favors, the 
court was strict, and an attachment to an actress would 
have compromised his reputation. He did not deliberately 
intend to betray and deceive Biilgarini — he was afraid, he 
hesitated, he thought to gain time, and in the meantime 
she died.” 

‘‘And he returned thanks to Heaven for the happy event,” 
added the implacable maestro. “And now the empress 
sends him boxes and rings with her initials set in brilliants, 
pens of lapis lazuli with diamond laurels, gold boxes filled 
with Spanish tobacco, seals made out of a single diamond; 
and all these glitter so, that the poet^s eyes are constantly 
watering.” 

“And will all that console him for having broken Ro- 
man ina’s heart?” 

“ Perhaps not; but his longing after these things in- 
duced him to do it. Paltry, yet fatal ambition! For my 
part I could hardly help laughing when he showed us his 
gold chandelier, with the ingenious motto suggested by the 
empress: 


‘ Perche possa risparmiare i suoi occME 
“It is certainly very pretty, and made him exclaim 


GONSUELO. 


639 

aloud — ^Affetkcosa espressio 7 ia valutabile piu assai delVoror 
Poor manr^ 

Unfortunate man/’ exclaimed Oonsuelo, sighing, as 
she returned home sorrowfully, for she could not help 
sadly comparing Metastasio’s position with respect to 
Marianna, and her own in relation to Albert. “ To wait 
and die! is this then the fate of those who love with pas- 
sion? And is it the destiny of those who pursue the vain 
chimera, glory, to make others wait and die?” 

What are you dreaming of?” said the maestro. It 
seems to me that all goes well, and that in spite of your 
awkwardness, you have won over Metastasio.” 

It is a poor conquest, that of a weak mind,” she re- 
plied ; ^^and I do not believe that he who wanted courage 
to admit Marianna to the imperial theater, will exert him- 
self any more to serve me.” 

Metastasio, in matters of art, henceforth governs the 
court of the empress.” 

Metastasio in matters of art will never advise the em- 
2)ress to do any thing she does not wish ; and whatever 
may be said of her favorites and counselors, I have observed 
her countenance, and I tell you, master, that Maria-The- 
resa is too politic to have favorites — too absolute to have 
friends.” 

“ Well, then,” said Porpora, somewhat anxiously, ^^we 
must win over the empress herself. You must sing some 
morning in her apartments, and give her an opportunity 
of speaking to you and conversing with you. People say 
that she likes only well-conducted girls. If she have the 
eagle eye which is imputed to her, she will judge you and 
prefer you. It shall now be my endeavor to bring about 
such an interview.” 


CHAPTER XCTI. 

One morning Joseph, occupied in sweeping Porpora’s 
ante-chamber, and forgetting that the partition was thin, 
and the maestro’s slumbers light, amused himself by hum- 
ming mechanically whatever came uppermost, and beating 
time w'ith his brush u2)on the boards. Porpora, dissatis- 
fied at being so early awakened, fidgetted about in his bed 


640 • 


CONSUELO. 


and tried to sleep again, but the sweet fresh voice, which 
sang with great taste and correctness a very agreeable air, 
still reaching his ear, he threw on his dressing-gown and 
peeped through the key-hole, partly pleased with what he 
heard, partly angry with the artist who had so uncere- 
nionionsly roused him. But what is his surprise! — it is no 
other than Beppo, whose fertile imagination pursues his 
theme while mechanically busied with household cares! 

What is that you are singing?’’ exclaimed the maestro 
in a voice of thunder, as he abruptly opened the door. 

Joseph, bewildered like a man startled from his sleep, 
was on the point of pitching aside broom and feathers, and 
taking to his heels. But if he no longer entertained the 
hope of becoming a pupil of Porpora, he still considered 
himself most fortunate in being able to hear Oonsuelo, 
and to receive lessons from this generous friend when the 
master turned his back! On no consideration, therefore, 
would he have been turned out of doors, so he ventured on 
a fib, in order to disarm suspicion. 

^‘What was I singing?” said he, quite out of counten- 
ance. Alas! master, I know not.” 

Do people sing what they do not know? liar that you 
are!” 

I assure, you master, I know not what I sung. You 
have so frightened me that I already forget what it was. 
I know that it is WTong to sing so near your room, but I 
quite forgot myself ; I dreamed I was alone and far from 
this. I said to myself, * Now you may sing ; there is no 
composer here to say, be silent, you sing false. Be silent, 
you ignoramus ; what do you know of music?’” 

Who told you that you sung false.” 

‘‘ Every body.” 

“ And I tell you,” exclaimed the maestro, in a severe 
tone, that you do not sing false. Who taught you?” 

Why — Master Reuter, whom my friend Keller shaves ; 
he drove me from the class, saying I would never be any- 
thing but an ass.” 

Joseph knew enough of the master’s prejudices to be 
aware that he held Reuter in the utmost contempt ; he had 
even reckoned upon the latter’s advancing him in the 
good graces of Porpora, on the first occasion he might 
attempt to disparage him to the maestro. But Reuter, in 
his few visits to Porpora, had never so much as deigned to 
recognize his old pupil. 


CONSUELO. 


641 


Master Renter is an ass himself/" muttered Porpora to 
himself ; but that is not the question/" resumed he 
aloud. I want to know where you learned that turn/" 
and here he sang that which Joseph had repeated some ten 
times in succession, without being aware of it. 

“Oh! is it that?"" said Haydn, who began to draw a 
better augury of the maestro"s disposition, but who did not 
venture to trust him yet ; “ that is something I heard the 
signora sing."" 

“ Consuelo? My daughter? I did not know that. Ah! 
you listen at the doors then?"" 

“ Oh, no, sir! but music penetrates from room to room, 
even to the kitchen, and I hear in spite of myself."" 

“ I do not like to be served by people who have so good 
a memory, and can sing my unpublished ideas in the 
street. You may pack off this very day. Seek a place 
elsewhere."" 

This announcement fell like a thunderbolt on poor 
Joseph ; he retired to weep in the kitchen, where Con- 
suelo soon joined him, to listen to the recital of his mis- 
hap and to comfort him by promising to arrange matters. 

“How is this, master?"" said she to Porpora, when she 
presented him his coffee. “You would drive away this 
laborious, faithful youth, because, for the first time in his 
life, he happened to sing well."" 

“ I tell you that he is a deceiver and a hardened liar; 
he has been sent by some enemy who wishes to discover 
the secrets of my compositions, and appropriate them to 
himself before they have seen the light. I will engage 
that this fellow knows my new opera by heart, and copies 
my manuscripts when my back is turned. How often 
have I been thus betrayed! How many of my ideas have 
I not found in those pretty operas which were all the rage 
in Venice, while they yawned at mine, saying: 'This 
crazy old Porpora gives us as new, these airs which are 
sung about all the thoroughfares of Venice!" Hold! the 
ass has betrayed himself ; he sang this morning a 
phrase which I am certain is by no other than Meinherr 
Hasse, and which I perfectly recollect. I shall note it 
down, and to revenge myself I shall put it in my new 
opera, to pay him back a trick which he has often prac- 
ticed on me."" 

“ Take care, master, it may be already published. You 
do not know by heart all existing productions."" 


GONStlELO. 


642 

But I have heard them, and tell you this is too remark- 
able not to have struck me.” 

Very well, master, a thousand thanks! I am proud of 
the compliment, for the air is mine,” 

Consuelo here unfortunately told a fib. The phrase in 
question had only that morning seen the light in Joseph's 
brain; but she had taken the hint, and had already learned 
it by heart in order not to be taken at fault if questioned 
by the suspicious maestro. Porpora did not fail to ask her 
for it. She sang it immediately, and alleged that the 
evening before, in order to please the Abbe Metastasio, she 
had tried to set to music the first verses of his charming 
pastoral, commencing: 

Gia reide la primavera, 

Col suofiorito aspetto ; 

Gid il grato zeffiretto 
Seller za fra Verhe e i fiori. 

Tornan le frondi agli alheri 
Uerhette al prato tor nano ; 

Sol non ritorna a me 
La pace del mio cor” * 

had repeated the first phrase several times,” she 
added, when I heard Master Beppo in the ante-chamber 
who was warbling it like a canary — that is to say all 
astray. I grew impatient, and begged him to hold his 
tongue; but at the end of an hour he again repeated it so 
awkwardly on the stairs that I had no wish to go on 
with it.” 

And how comes it that he sings so well to-day? What 
has happened to him while asleep ?” 

‘‘ I shall explain it to you, my dear master. I observed 
that this boy had a fine and even a correct voice, but that 
he sang falsely from want of ear, judgment, and memory. 
I amused myself by making him repeat the notes, and sing 
the scale aceording to your method, to see if it would suc- 
ceed even with an inferior organization.” 

It must succeed with all organizations !” exclaimed 


* Now, witli its flowery face, the beauteous spring returns, 
Among the grass and flowers the zephyrs sport with glee, 
The leaves adorn the trees, the waving grass the flelds; 
But my heart’s peace returns not yet to me. 


CONSUELO. 643 

Porpora; there is no such thing as a false voice, and 

never was there an ear properly exercised which 

That is exactly what I said to myself/^ replied Oon- 
suelo, anxious to end the discussion, ‘^and the result 
proved that I was correct. In the first lesson according to 
your system, I succeeded in making him understand what 
Reuter and all the Germans in the world would never have 
instilled into him. After that I sang the air, and for the 
first time he understood it correctly. He immediately 
sung it, and he was so astonished, so wonder-stricken, that 
he could not sleep — it was like a new revelation to him. 
‘Oh! mademoiselle r said he, ‘if I had been taught thus 
I should have learned something like the other pupils. 
But I do assure you I never could understand what they 
taught at St. Stephens.^” 

“ And was he really taught there 

“ Yes, and was shamefully expelled from the school. 
You have only to mention his name to Master Reuter ; he 
will tell you that he is a sad fellow, and a most impractic- 
able scholar.’’ 

“Come hither!” cried Porpora to Beppo, who was in 
tears behind the door; “ sit by me, till I see if you under- 
stand yesterday’s lesson.” 

The malicious maestro then began to teach the rudi- 
ments of music to Joseph, but in the roundabout, con- 
fused, pedantic fashion which he ascribed to the Germans. 
If Joseph had allowed his intelligence to appear, purposely 
confused as Porpora’s instructions were, he had been lost 
without retrieve. But he was too knowing to be so easily 
entrapped, and he displayed such determined stupidity 
throughout the long lesson that the maestro was satis- 
fied. 

“ I see you know very little indeed,” said he, rising and 
persisting in a feint with which the others were not in the 
least duped. “ Go back to your broom and let us have no 
more singing if you wish to remain with me.” 

But at^the end of two hours, unable to restrain himself, 
and stimulated by the love of a neglected calling which he 
had exercised for so long a period without a rival, Porpora 
once more became the professor of singing, and recalled 
Joseph to set him to work again. He explained the same 
principles indeed, but with that lucid ness and logical pre- 
cision which arranges and classifies all knowledge — in a 


644 


CONSUELO. 


word, with that incredible simplicity which characterizes 
men of genius. 

Haydn now perceived that he might venture to under- 
stand a little, and Porpora was delighted at his success. 
Although the maestro taught him things which he had al- 
ready long studied, and which he knew as well as possible, 
the lesson was interesting and useful to him. He learned 
to teach; and since, during those* hours when Porpora did 
not employ him, he continued to give lessons through the 
city in order not to lose his few pupils, he determined to 
turn what he had learned to account without loss of time. 

^'Ah! most respected professor,” said he to Porpora, 
pretending to play the simpleton to the end of the chapter, 
“ I prefer this music to the other, and I think I could 
make some progress in it. But as to this morning’s work 
I had rather go back to St. Stephen’s than have any thing 
to say to it.” 

And yet it is the same you learned there. Can there 
be two sorts of music, dolt? There is but one music, and 
can be but one.” 

Oh! I ask your pardon, sir; there is Master Reuter’s 
music which wearies me, and there is yours which does not 
weary me at all.” 

You flatter me highly. Signor Beppo,” said Porpora, 
laughing ; but the compliment was far from being dis- 
pleasing to him. 

From that day Haydn received Porpora’s instructions, 
and in a short time they began to study Italian song, and 
the fundamental ideas of lyrical composition. This was 
what the noble youth had so ardently wished, and so 
courageously pursued. His progress was so rapid that the 
maestro was at once charmed, surprised, and even terrified. 
When Consuelo saw his former distrust ready to spring up, 
she pointed out to her young friend the conduct he ought 
to pursue. A little obstinacy, a feigned abstraction, were 
necessary to rouse Porpora’s peculiar genius and passion 
for teaching, just as some little drawback and difficulty 
always render the exercise of the higher powers more, 
energetic and powerful. It frequently happened therefore 
that Joseph was obliged to feign languor and indifference 
in order to procure those precious lessons, the least of 
which he would have trembled to lose. .The pleasure of 
opposition, and the desire of conquering, urged on the 


CONSUELO. 


645 


pugnacious soul of the old professor, and never did Beppo 
receive clearer conceptions than those which were drawn 
forth, warm and eloquent, from the satirical and excited 
master. 


CHAPTER XCIII. 

While Porpora’s abode was the theater of these ap- 
parently unimportant proceedings, the results of which 
might yet have so great an influence on the history of art, 
inasmuch as the genius of one of the most original, im- 
aginative, and celebrated composers of the last century 
received from them its greatest development — events 
exercising a more immediate influence on Consuelo^s 
existence took place out of doors. Gorilla, much more 
active and able in the promotion of her own interests, 
gained ground every day, and, now perfectly recovered, 
negotiated the conditions of her engagement at the court 
theater. A vigorous actress, but an indifferent musician, 
she pleased the director and his wife much more than 
Consuelo. It was very evident that the learned Porporina 
looked down from too great a height, were it only in 
thought, on the operas of Master Holzbaiier and the talents 
of his lady. They were well aware that great artists, 
poorly aided, reduced to express second-rate ideas, and as 
it were oppressed by the violence thus offered to their 
taste and conceptions, do not always preserve the beaten 
track, or retain the self-command which bold mediocrity 
introduces into the most wretched productions, and amid 
the dreary jingle of works badly studied and ill understood. 

When, tiianks to their wonderful resolution and power, 
they succeed in triumphing over the difficulties of their 
position, the envious atmosphere around them utters 
nothing but discord. The composer is well aware of their 
discomfort, and fears lest this forced inspiration should 
suddenly cool, and impair his success. Even the public, 
surprised and disconcerted without well knowing why, 
find out at last that genius, held enslaved by vulgar 
prejudice, is struggling within its narrow limits, and it is 
almost with a sigh that they applaud her strenuous efforts. 
Holzbaiier perfectly recollected the little relish that 
Consuelo displayed for his music. She was so unfortunate 


646 


CONSUELO. 


as to evince this one day, when, disguised and thinking 
she had only to deal with a person such as one meets when 
traveling for the first and last time, she had spoken her 
sentiments openly, never suspecting that her position as 
an artist could ever be at the mercy of the unknown 
friend of the canon. Holzbaiier, however, had not for- 
gotten it, and under his calm and courteous demeanor 
was deeply hurt, and had sworn to throw every obstacle in 
the way of her success. But as he was unwilling that 
Porpora and his pupil, and what he called their clique, 
should have it in their power to accuse him of un- 
fairness, he had mentioned to no one except his wife his 
meeting with Oonsuelo, and the adventure of the break- 
fast. This adventure therefore seemed to have made no 
impression on the director; he appeared to have entirely 
forgotten the little Bertoni, and not in the least to suspect 
that the wandering singer and Porporina were one and 
the same individual. Oonsuelo was lost in conjectures 
respecting the conduct of Holzbaiier toward her. 

I must have been completely disguised then,^^ said 
she in confidence to Beppo, and the arrangement of my 
hair must have greatly changed my features, since this 
man, who looked at me there so keenly, does not recog- 
nize me here at all.^' 

Neither did Count Hoditz know you the first time he 
saw you at the ambassador’s,^’ replied. Joseph, and per- 
haps had he not received your note, he might never have 
recognized you.” 

Yes, but Count Hoditz has so proud and nonchalant a 
manner of looking at people, that in reality he scarcely 
sees them. I am sure he would not have divined my sex 
at Passau if Baron Trenck had not given him a hint; while 
Holzbaiier, as soon as he saw me, and, indeed, every time 
he meets me, looks at me with the same attentive and pry- 
ing eyes that he fixed on me at the curate’s. Why is he so 
generously silent on an adventure that might be misinter- 
preted, and which might even embroil me with my master, 
since he thinks I traveled to Vienna in the usual manner, 
without experiencing any distress, or meeting even with the 
shadow of an adventure? And all the while this same Holz- 
baiier depreciates, in an underhand manner, my voice and 
method, and in short, exerts himself to the utmost against 
me, in order not to be obliged to give me an engagement. 


COmUELO. 


64 ^ 

He hates and repels me, and as his weapons are stronger 
than mine, I must succumb. I am lost.^^ 

The solution of the enigma was soon apparent to Con- 
suelo; but in order to understand her position, the reader 
must remember that a numerous and powerful coterie was 
working hard against her, that Gorilla was handsome and not 
over scrupulous,that the minister,Kaunitz,who loved to daz- 
zle in the gossip of the green-room, saw her often, and that 
Maria Theresa, to relieve her mind from the c^res of state, 
amused herself by listening to his chatterings on these topics, 
ridiculing him inwardly for his littleness of mind. She took 
a sort of pleasure in this gossip, which afforded her, though 
on a smaller scale, and with more open effrontery, a specta- 
cle somewhat similar to that which was then taking place 
in the three most important courts of Europe — governed 
as they were by female intrigues — to wit, her own, that of 
the Czarina, and that of Madame de Pompadour. 

Maria Theresa, as is well known, gave audiences once a 
week to all who wished to speak to her — a hypocritical and 
hereditary custom, which her son, Joseph II, religiously 
observed, and which still exists at the court of Austria. 
Besides this, Maria Theresa gave individual audiences to 
those who wished to enter her service, and no sovereign 
was ever more easy of access. 

Porpora at length obtained this musical audience, in 
which he hoped that the empress, having an opportunity 
of seeing more closely the pleasing countenance of Consuelo, 
might perhaps be favorably disposed toward, her. He knew 
the requirements of her majesty with regard to propriety 
of demeanor and correct conduct, and he felt assured tliat 
she would be struck with the candor and modesty wliich 
characterized his pupiFs whole appearance. They were in- 
troduced into one of the smaller saloons of the palace, 
where a harpsichord had been brought, and where the em- 
press herself arrived after an interval of half an hour. She 
had just been giving audience to some persons of dis- 
tinction, and she still wore the same costume, just as it is 
represented on the gold sequins of the period, viz. : a robe 
of brocade, a mantle, a crown on her head, and a small 
Hungarian saber by her side. She was truly beautiful, not 
with that ideal grandeur which her courtiers affected to at- 
tribute to her, but lively, animated, with a happy, open 
countenance, and a self-possessed and enterprising look. It 


648 


(J0N8VEL0. 


was indeed the king Maria Theresa, whom the Hungarian 
magnates, during a day of enthusiasm, had proclaimed, 
saber in hand; but at first sight it was a good rather than 
a great king. She displayed no coquetry, and her familiar 
manners evinced a calm and equable mind, devoid of fe- 
male cunning. When she was closely observed, and more 
especially when she questioned perseveringly, a keen and 
even cold-blooded cunning was evident in this otherwise 
affable and smiling countenance. But if so, it was mascu- 
line, or, to choose a better word, imperial cunning. 

You will let me hear your pupil by and bye,^^ said she to 
Porpora. I already know that she is deeply skilled in 
the science of music, and has a magnificent voice ; and I 
have not forgotten the pleasure she afforded me in the ora- 
torio of Betulia Liberata. But I should like in the first place 
to speak to her for a short time in private. I have many 
questions to ask, and as I reckon upon her sincerity, I 
hope to be able to grant her the protection which she re- 
quests. 

Porpora hastened to retire, reading in her majesty^s eyes 
that she wished to be quite alone with Consuelo. He re- 
paired to a neighboring gallery, which he found very cold; 
for the court, ruined by the outlay of the last war, was gov- 
erned with strict economy, and Maria Theresa’s character 
rendered this conformity to the necessity of her position 
easy to her. 

Although thus left alone with the daughter and the 
mother of Oesars, the heroine of Germany and the greatest 
woman at that period in Europe, Consuelo was neverthe- 
less neither agitated nor frightened. Whether it was that 
her aritstic temperament made her indifferent to this war- 
like display which glittered around Maria Theresa, extend- 
ing even to her costume, or that her frank and noble soul was 
raised above such considerations, she awaited calmly and 
with perfect composure her majesty’s inquiries. 

The empress seated herself upon a sofa, adjusted her 
jeweled baldric, which somewhat fretted her fair round 
shoulders, and thus began : repeat to yon, my child, 

that I think highly of your talents. I do not doubt your 
excellent education and artistic faculties, but you must be 
aware that I hold talent and genius as nothing in compari- 
son with a pious upright heart and irreproachable con- 
duct.” 


GONSUELO. 


649 


Consuelo, standing, listened respectfully to this exor- 
dium, but it did not occur to her that it afforded any 
grounds for praising herself; and as, besides, she felt an utter 
repugnance to boasting of virtues which she unostenta- 
tiously exercised, she waited for the empress to question 
her more directly on her principles and intentions. This 
would have been the time, however, to address the sover- 
eign with a well-turned madrigal on her angelic piety, her 
sublime virtue, and on the impossibility of going astray 
with such an example before one’s eyes; but poor Consuelo 
never even dreamed of profiting by the occasion. Refined 
minds fear to insult a noble character by offering vulgar 
praise, but monarchs, if they are not the dnpes of flattery, 
are at least so much in the habit of breathing its intoxicat- 
ing incense, that they demand it as a simple act of sub- 
mission and etiquette. Maria Theresa was astonished at 
the young girl’s silence, and assuming a somewhat harsher 
and less encouraging tone, she continued: 

I know, my young friend, that your conduct has not 
been over scrupulous, and that, although not married, you 
lead a life of somewhat unwarrantable intimacy with a 
young man of your own profession, whose name I do not 
now recollect.” 

I can at least assure your imperial majesty of one 
thing,” said Consuelo, provoked by the injustice of this 
sharp accusation, ^^that I have never committed a single 
fault, the recollection of which prevents me from sus- 
taining your majesty’s look with pride and satisfaction.” 

Maria Theresa was struck with the noble and lofty ex- 
pression which Consuelo’s countenance assumed at that' 
instant. At an earlier period of her life she would doubt- 
less have remarked it with pleasure and -sympathy; but 
Maria Theresa was already a queen to the heart’s core, and 
the exercise of absolute power had produced that species 
of mental intoxication which would subject every thing 
and every person to its own will. Maria Theresa wished 
to be the only powerful mind, whether a woman or sover- 
eign, in all her realms. She was astounded, therefore, at 
the unshrinking look and proud smile of this young girl, 
whom she esteemed but as a worm before her, and with 
whom she would have amused herself for the instant as 
with a slave whom one questioiis out of curiosity. 

asked you, mademoiselle,’" resumed she with an4cy 


G50 


CONSUELO. 


tone, ^^who is the young man who lives with you in Por- 
pora’s house? you have not yet told me.” 

‘‘His name is Joseph Haydn,” replied Consuelo, com- 
posedly. 

“ Well ! he has entered PorpoiVs service as valet-de- 
chambre, through love of you; and Master Porpora is 
ignorant of this young man’s real motives, while you are 
aware of them and encourage them.” 

“They have calumniated me to your majesty. This 
youth never had any preference for me” (here Consuelo 
thought she spoke the truth); “and I even know positively 
that his affections are engaged elsewhere; and if there has 
been a little deceit employed toward my excellent master, 
the motives for it are innocent, perhaps praiseworthy. 
The love of art alone has induced Joseph Haydn to enter 
the service of Porpora, and since your majesty deigns to 
weigh and examine the conduct of the meanest of your 
subjects, and since nothing can escape your clear-sighted 
scrutiny, I feel assured your majesty will give me credit 
for sincerity if you will but look into the particulars of my 
case.” 

Maria Theresa was too clear-sighted not to recognize at 
once the accents of truth. She had not yet lost theWiero- 
ism of youth, although she had begun to descend that fatal 
declivity of absolute power, which so certainly extinguishes 
little by little faith and confidence even in the most gen- 
erous minds. 

“ Young girl,” said she, “ I believe that you speak the 
truth, and that you are strictly well conducted; but I dis- 
cern in you great pride and mistrust of my maternal good- 
ness, symptoms which make me fear I can do nothing for 
you.” 

“If I am to appeal to the maternal goodness of Maria 
Theresa,” replied Consuelo, softened by language of which 
the poor soul, alas! was far from suspecting the empty and 
meaningless nature, “ I am ready to bend before her and 
implore it; but if it be ” 

“Go on, my child,” said Maria Theresa, who, withWt 
being able to explain her own feelings, would have been 
rejoiced to bring this singular person to her knees; “Speak 
freely.” ^ V 

“ But if, on the other hand, it be to your majesty’s im- 
perial justice I am to' appeal, as I have nothing to confess, 


CONSVELO. 


651 


inasmuch as a pure breath does not taint the air which 
even the gods breathe, I feel sufficient pride to esteem 
myself worthy of your protection/^ 

Porporina,^^ said the empress, ^‘you are an intelligent 
girl, and your originality, which might perhaps offend 
another, does you no discredit with me. I have told you that 
I believe you sincere, yet I know that you have sonjething 
to confess. Why do you hesitate? You love this Haydn; 
your attachment, I have no doubt, is pure, but still you 
love him, since, for the pleasure of seeing him more fre- 
quently (let us even suppose that it is out of anxiety for 
his progress in music with Porpora), you fearlessly expose 
your reputation, which to us women is, of all things, one 
of the most sacred and important. But you fear, perhaps, 
that your master and your adopted father will never con- 
sent to your union with a poor and obscure artist. Per- 
haps, also, for I wish to believe all your assertions, the 
young man^s affections are placed elsewhere; and you, proud 
as I see you are, conceal your preference, and generously 
sacrifice your good fame without receiving any equivalent. 
Were I in your place, my dear girl, and had the oppor- 
tunity you have now, and may never have again, I should 
open my heart to my sovereign and should say: ‘To you 
who can do every thing I confide my destiny; remove all 
obstaclesi With a word you can change the feelings of 
my master and my lover. You can make me happy, re- 
establish me in public esteem, and place me in a position so 
honorable that I may hope to enter the service of the 
court.’ Such is the confidence you should have in the 
maternal kindness of Maria Theresa, and I am sorry that 
you have not already made the discovery.” 

“I perceive very well,” thought Oonsuelo, “that actu- 
ated by the despotic capriciousness of a spoiled child, you 
are desirous, great queen, to see the ziugarella prostrate 
herself at your feet, because it seems to you that her knees 
are stiff and will not bend before you, and this to you is 
an unheard-of phenomenon. Well! you shall not have 
this amusement unless you prove clearly that you deserve 
the homage!” 

These and other reflections passed quickly through her 
mind while Maria Theresa lectured her. She^ reflected 
that Porpora’s fortune hung oh the cast of a die, upon a 
whim of the empress, and that her master’s prospects were 


CONSUELO, 


652 

well deserving the price of a little humiliation. But she 
would not incur the humiliation in vain. She would not 
act a part with a crowned head who certainly was as well 
skilled as she was on this point. She waited till Maria 
Theresa should prove herself truly great in her eyes, in 
order that in prostrating herself before her she might be 
sincere. 

When the empress had finished her homily, Consuelo 
replied : 

I shall reply to all your majesty has deigned to say to 
me, if your majesty wilh please to order me.^^ 

Yes, speak — speak!’’ said the empress, annoyed at her 
inflexible countenance. 

‘‘In the first place then your majesty will permit me to 
say, that for the first time in my life I learn from your im- 
perial lips, that my reputation is at stake owing to the 
presence of Joseph Haydn in my master’s house. I con- 
fess I thought that I was of too little importance to call 
forth an expression of public opinion, and if I had been 
told when I entered the imperial palace that the empress 
herself had weighed and condemned my conduct, I should 
have thought it was a dream.” 

Maria Theresa interrupted her. She thought this re- 
flection of Consuelo’s was somewhat ironical. 

“You must not be astonished,” said she, in an*emphatic 
tone, “ that I should busy myself in the most minute con- 
cerns of a being for whom I am responsible to God.” 

“ AVe may be permitted to wonder where we admire,” 
replied Consuelo, adroitly, “and if great deeds be the 
most simple, they are at least sufficiently unusual to sur- 
prise at first sight.” 

“You must understand, moreover,” said the empress, 
“ that I attend particularly to the artists with whom I 
love to adorn my court. The theater in every country is 
a school of scandal — a pit of perdition. I entertain the 
hope, laudable at least, if not practicable, of raising in the 
eyes of men and of purifying before God, the class of 
actors — a class exposed to the contempt of men, and even 
to the anathemas of the church in several countries, and 
despised and proscribed by most nations. While in France 
the church shuts her doors upon them, I for my part 
would have the church open them wide to receive them. 
I Imve never admitted either into my Italian, my French, 


C0N8UEL0. 


653 


or my national theater, any except persons of irreproach- 
able morality, or at least those who are lirmly resolved to 
reform their conduct. You must know that I insist on 
their marriage, and that I even hold their children at the 
baptismal font, resolved as I am to encourage legitimate 
births and nuptial fidelity.” 

If we had known that,” thought Consuelo, we 
should have asked her majesty to be the godmother of 
Angela in my place. Your majesty sows only to reap 
abundantly,” replied she aloud; ‘^and if I had a fault on 
my conscience, I should be happy to confide it to so merci- 
ful and just a confessor; but ” 

Continue what you were just about to observe,” said 
Maria Theresa, haughtily. 

I was about to say,” replied Consuelo, that being 
ignorant of the blame cast on me with respect to Joseph 
Haydn^s abode in the same house, I did not make any 
severe sacrifice for his sake in exposing myself to it.” 

I understand,” said the empress ; you deny every 
thing!” 

^‘How should I plead guilty to a falsehood?” replied 
Consuelo; ‘‘ I have no preference for my master’s pupil, 
much less the slightest desire to marry him ; and even 
were it otherwise,” thought she, I should hardly accept 
his heart in virtue of an imperial fiat.” 

So you intend to remain unmarried?” said the em- 
press, rising. Very well; I must say that it is a position 
which in point of character does not yield me sufficient 
security. Besides it is unseemly that a young person 
should appear in certain parts, and represent , certain pas- 
sions, when she has not the sanction of marriage and the 
protection of her husband. It only depended upon your- 
self to distance your competitor, Madame Corilla, respect- 
ing whom I have received a very good character, but who 
does not pronounce Italian nearly so well as you do. But 
then Madame Corilla is married, and the mother of a 
family, which places her in a more favorable position than 
that which you have chosen to occupy.” 

Married !” murmured poor Consuelo, astonished to 
Iiear who the virtuous personage was whom the thrice 
virtuous and clear-sighted empress preferred to her. 

Yes, married,” replied the empress in a decided tone, 
already dissatisfied with the doubts expressed relative to 


654 


GomUELO. 


her protegee. She lately gave birth to an infant, whom 
she has placed in the hands of a worthy and respectable 

clergjrman, the canon of , in order that he may impart 

to it a Christian education; and doubtless this excellent 
personage would not have taken such a charge upon him, 
if he had not held the mother deserving of his esteem.” 

^•'Neither do I doubt it,” replied the young girl, con- 
soled amid her indignation, to find that the canon was 
approved of in place of being censured, for a step which 
she herself had induced him to take. 

Thus it is that history is written!” said she to herself, 
as the empress sailed out of the apartment, giving her as 
conge merely a slight inclination of the head ; and thus 
it is that kings are enlightened. Well! after all, even the 
greatest misfortunes have their bright side, and the errors 
of men are often instrumental in bringing about good. 
The good canon will not be deprived of his priory ; Angela 
will not lose her kind guardian ; Gorilla will be converted 
if the empress thinks fit ; and I have not been compelled 
to kneel before a woman not a whit better than myself.” 

^‘Well?” exclaimed Porpora with a smothered voice, 
when she met him in the gallery where he was waiting, 
clasping and unclasping his hands with mingled hope and 
anxiety. “ I trust we have won the day!” 

^^On the contrary, dear master, we have lost it.” 

How calmly you say it — the fiend take you!” 

You must not say that, my dear master ; his majesty 
is exceedingly unwelcome at court! When we are outside 
the gate I shall tell you all.” 

Well — what is it?” resumed Porpora impatiently, when 
they were on the ramparts. 

‘‘ Do you recollect, dear master,” replied Consuelo, 
what we said of the great minister Kaunitz on leaving 
the margravine’s?” 

We said he was an old gossip. Has he done us any ill 
turn then?” 

Without doubt he has ; and in the meantime I may 
tell you that her majesty, the empress. Queen of Hungary, 
is a good deal of the gossip also.” 


(J0N8UEL0, 


655 


CHAPTER XCIV. 

CoKStJELO mentioned nothing to Porpora of Maria The- 
resa^s motives for thus disgracing or at least slighting her, 
except what it was necessary for him to know ; any thing 
else would have only served to annoy and vex the maestro, 
and perhaps irritate him against Haydn to no purpose. 
Consuelo said nothing either to her young friend of what 
she had been silent upon to Porpora. She justly despised 
the false accusations which she knew had been concocted 
and furnished to the empress by two or three unfriendly 
individuals, and as yet at least had obtained no circulation 
with the public. The Ambassador Corner, to whom she 
thought it right to confide every thing, confirmed her in 
this opinion ; and to prevent ill-natured persons from lay- 
ing hold of these calumnies and turning them to her dis- 
advantage, he arranged matters wisely and generously. 
He settled that Porpora should remain in his lodging with 
Consuelo, and that Haydn should become an attache to 
the embassy, and be admitted to the table of the private 
secretaries. In this way the old maestro would escape 
some of the cares of poverty, and Joseph could still pay 
him a few personal attentions, which would give him an 
opportunity of coming frequently to the house and taking 
his lessons, while Consuelo would be protected against 
malignant imputations. In spite of these precautions 
Corilla was engaged in place of Consuelo at the imperial 
theater. Consuelo had been unable to give satisfaction to 
Maria Theresa. This great queen, w'hile she amused her- 
self with the intrigues behind the scenes, which Kaunitz 
and Metastasio only told her of by halves and always in a 
l^iquant and amusing fashion, wished to perform nothing 
less than the part of a special providence toward creatures 
who on their part acted to the life repentant sinners or 
converted demons. It may well be supposed that among 
these hypocrites who received pensions and gratuities for 
their assumed piety, neither Caffariello, nor Farinelli, nor 
Tesi, nor Madame Hasse, nor any of those great and cele- 
brated virtuosi who occasionally came to display their 
talents at Vienna, were included. But the common herd 
were bribed by persons determined on flattering her 


056 


CONSUELO. 


majesty’s devout and moralizing fantasies, and her majesty, 
who introduced her spirit of diplomatic intrigue into every 
thing, made the marriages and conversions of her actors 
an affair of state. One may read in the Memoirs of 
Favart, that entertaining romance of realities, the difficul- 
ties he experienced in sending proper actresses and singers, 
whom he had got a commission to furnish, to Vienna. 

Thus Maria Theresa wished to give to her amusement 
an edifying pretext worthy of her beneficent character. 
Monarchs are always acting a part, and great monarchs 
probably more so than others. Porpora constantly said so, 
and he was not mistaken. The great empress, a zealous 
Catholic and mother of an exemplary family, conversed 
without repugnance with women of easy virtue, catechised 
them, and solicited strange confessions, in order to have 
the honor and glory of leading a repentant Magdalene to 
the foot of the cross. The empress’ private purse, placed 
between vice and contrition, rendered these miracles of 
grace at once numerous and infallible. Thus Gorilla, 
weeping and prostrate, if not in person — for her stubborn 
nature would have hardly bent to the humiliating act — at 
least through Kaunitz as her proxy, who went security for 
her conduct, must inevitably take precedence of a decided, 
proud, and fiery temperament, like that of Consuelo. 
Maria Theresa loved in her proteges of the drama only 
those virtues of which she could boast herself the author ; 
those which had been self-created or self-maintained did 
not interest her very much ; she did not believe in them, 
as her own virtue should have made her believe. Then 
Consuelo’s proud attitude had provoked her ; she found 
her logical and self-possessed. It was rather too much for 
a little Bohemian to wish to be wise and estimable without 
an empress interfering to bring it about, and when Herr 
Kaunitz, who pretended to be very impartial, while all the 
time he did his utmost to assist one and injure the other, 
asked her majesty if she had granted theUttle one's prayer, 
she replied : 

I was not satisfied with her principles; do not mention 
her name to me again.” 

And all was said. The voice, the features, and even the 
name of Porporina were thenceforth completely forgotten. 

It was necessary to explain briefly to Porpora the mean- 
ing of this exclusion. Consuelo told him, that her being 


CONSUELO. 657 

iiimiarried seemed to tlie empress an uusurmountable ob- 
jection to her engagement. 

y And Gorilla?” exclaimed Porpora, on learning the ad- 
mission of her rival; “has her majesty married her?” 

“ So far as I have been able to learn from her majesty’s 
words. Gorilla passes with lier for a widow.” 

“A widow?” said Porpora with a bitter smile; “but 
what will they say when they know what she is, and when 
they see her conduct? And this child they tell me about, 
that she has left near Vienna with some canon?” 

“She will turn the whole affair into ridicule with her 
companions, and she will laugh in private at the clever 
trick she has played the empress.” 

“ But what if the empress learn the truth?” 

“ She will never learn it. Sovereigns are surrounded 
with ears which serve as barriers to exclude it. Many 
things apparently are never told, and nothing finds ad- 
mission into the imperial sanctuary but what these guard- 
ians choose to give admission to.” 

“ Besides,” replied Porpora, “ Gorilla will always h.ave 
confession as a last resource, and Herr Kaunitz can enjoin 
a proper penance.” 

The poor maestro endeavored to vent his spleen in these 
bitter sarcasms, but he was not the less deeply vexed. He 
lost all hope of seeing his opera performed, the more so as 
the libretto was not by Metastasio the court poet. He had 
some suspicion that Consuelo had not taken the proper 
means to secure the good graces of the sovereign, and he 
could not help evincing his ill-humor to her. To make 
matters worse, tlie Venetian ambassador, one day when 
he saw Porpora overjoyed at Haydn’s rapid musical pro- 
gress, was imprudent enough to tell him the whole truth, 
and to show liim some of the young man’s graceful com- 
positions, which had begun to circulate and be admired 
among amateurs. The maestro exclaimed that he was im- 
posed on, and became frightfully enraged. Happily he 
did not suspect Gonsuelo as an accomplice in tiie deceit, 
and Gorner hastened to assuage the storm by a good- 
natured palliation. But he could not hinder Joseph from 
being banished for several days from Porpora’s presence, 
and it required all the ambassador’s influence to prevail 
upon the maestro to receive him again. Porpora, however, 
bore him a grudge for a long time, and it was even said 


658 


CONSUELO. 


that he made him purchase his lessons by painful and un- 
necessary humiliations, since the servants of the embassy 
were always at his disposal. But Haydn was not to be re- 
pulsed, and by dint of sweetness of temper, patience, and 
docility, aided by the advice and assistance of the good 
Consuelo, ever studious and attentive, he disarmed the 
rough professor, and obtained all that it was in the power 
of the one to impart or the other to receive. 

But Haydn’s genius dreamed of a different path from 
that which he had hitherto pursued, and the future father 
of the symphony confided to Consuelo his ideas respecting 
instrumentation on a gigantic scale. These gigantic pro- 
portions which appear so simple and obvious to us at the 
present day, might well seem to our ancestors a hundred 
years ago rather the utopian dream of a madman than a 
revelation of genius. Joseph distrusted himself, and con- 
fessed to Consuelo the ambition which tormented him. 
Consuelo was at first a little terrified also. Hitherto the 
orchestral accompaniment had been merely a secondary 
consideration, and when it was severed from the human 
voice, its resources were bald and simple in the extreme. 
Nevertheless her young fellow-pupil evinced so much 
calmness and perseverance, and displayed in all his con- 
duct and opinions so much real modesty and conscientious 
regard for truth, that Consuelo, unable to esteem him pre- 
sumptuous, decided on considering him wise and encour- 
aged him in his projects. It was at this period that 
Haydn composed a serenade for three instruments, which, 
accompanied by two of his friends, he proceeded to per- 
form under the windows of those ditettanti whose attention 
he wished to draw to his works. He began with Porpora, 
who, without knowing the names of the performers, 
listened with pleasure from his window and applauded 
without reserve. The ambassador, who was also a listener, 
took care this time not to betray the secret; for Porpora 
would not have suffered the young composer to turn his 
attention from vocal music to any other pursuit. 

About this time Porpora received a letter from his 
])upil, the excellent contralto singer, Hubert, surnamed 
Porporino, who had entered into the service of Frederick 
the Great. This famous artist was not, like the other 
pupils of the professor, so infatuated with his own merits 
as to forget to whom be owed them. Porporino had been 


CONSUELO. 


659 


imbued by him with a species of talent which he never 
sought to modify, and which had always been successful, 
viz. to sing in a chaste and severe style without unneces- 
sary ornaments and without departing from the sound doc- 
trines of his master. He was particularly admirable in 
the adagio. On this account Porpora entertained a pref- 
erence for him which he had some difficulty in concealing 
in presence of the fanatical admirers of Farinelli and 
Caffariello. He readily conceded that the ability, bril- 
liancy, and pliability of voice of these great per- 
formers were more captivating and better calculated to 
charm an audience greedy of difficulties; but he re- 
peated mentally that Porporino would never make 
such sacrifice to bad taste, and that his audience would 
never tire of hearing him, although he always sung in the 
same manner. It appeared, in fact, that Prussia did not 
tire of him, for he shone there during his whole musical 
career, and died at a very advanced age, after a lengthened 
sojourn of more than forty years. 

HuberPs letter informed Porpora that the lattePs music 
was much liked at Berlin, and that if he would join him 
there, he would do his utmost to have his new composi- 
tions performed. He urged him to leave Vienna, where 
artists were continually at the mercy of intrigues, and to 
recruit for the Prussian court a distinguished cantatrice 
who could sing with him the operas of the maestro. He 
highly eulogized the enlightened taste of the king, and his 
honorable conduct toward musicians. ^^If this project 
meets with your approbation,'^ said he at the close of the 
letter, reply quickly and state your terms, and three 
months hence I promise to procure such as will secure you 
in your old days a comfortable support. As to glory, my 
dear master, it is sufficient for that purpose that you write 
and that we sing so as to do you justice, and I trust your 
fame will extend even to Dresden." 

This last expression made Porpora prick his ears like a 
veteran war-horse. It was an allusion to the triumphs 
which Hasse and his singers had obtained at the court of 
Saxony. The idea of counterbalancing the fame of his 
rival in the north of Germany, so tickled the maestro, and 
he felt at this moment so much dislike for Vienna and the 
Viennese and their court, that he replied without hesita- 
tion to Porporino, authorizing him tb make proposals for 


660 


CONSUELO. 


him at Berlin. He mentioned what he would expect, 
making a moderate demand in order to avoid disappoint- 
ment. He spoke of Porporina in the highest terms, telling 
him that she was his sister in education, genius, and 
affection, as well as in name, and desiring him to arrange 
for her engagement on the most advantageous terms pos- 
sible. In this he acted without so much as consulting 
Consuelo, who was only informed of this fresh resolve after 
the letter had been dispatched. 

Poor Consuelo was terrified at the very name of Prussia, 
and that of the Great Frederick made her shudder. Since 
the adventure with the deserter she no longer looked upon 
this so much-vaunted monarch as any thing but an ogre 
or a vampire. Porpora scolded her a good deal for testify- 
ing so little joy at this new engagement, and as she could 
not relate to him the history of Karl and the piwiises of 
Mayer, she drooped her head, and submitted quietly to his 
tutoring. 

On reflection, however, she found some comfort in the 
project. It served to delay her return to the stage, since 
the affair might not go on, and since Porporino under any 
circumstances required three months to conclude it. Until 
then she was at liberty to dream of AlberPs love, and 
endeavor within herself to respond to it. Whether she 
finally admitted the possibility of a union or the contrary, 
she could still at least honorably keep her promise to think 
of it without force or constraint. 

She determined to wait for Count Christian’s reply to 
her first letter before announcing this intelligence to the 
family at Riesenburg; but this reply did not arrive, and 
Consuelo was beginning to think that Count Christian had 
renounced the idea of this mesalliance, and was endeavor- 
ing to make Albert renounce it also, when she received 
from Keller a communication to the following purport : 

“You promised to write to me; you have done so indirectly in acquaint- 
ing my father with your present embarrassing position. I see that 
you are placed under a yoke from which I should think it criminal to 
withdraw you. My father is terrified at the consequences which your 
submission to Porpora may have upon me; but as for myself, Con- 
suelo, I am not yet alarmed at any thing which has taken place, be- 
cause you express regret and repugnance at what is imposed on you — a 
sufficient proof that you will not lightly decide upon the question of 
my eternal unhappiness. No, you will not break your promise! you 
will try to love me? What matters it to me where you are or what 


CONSTTBLO. 


661 


you do, or tlie rank wliich glory or prejudice may give you among 
men, or the lapse of time, or the obstacles which prevent us meeting 
— if I can hope, and if you tell me to hope? I doubtless suffer much, 
but I can suffer still more without sinking, so long as one solitary 
gleam of hope remains unextinguished. 

“ I wait! I can wait! Do not think to alarm me by taking time to 
reply; do not write under the influence of fear or pity, to which I would 
not wish to owe any thing. Weigh my destiny in your heart, my soul 
in yours, and when the time has come, when you* feel sure of your 
decision, whether you be in the cell of a nun or on the boards of a 
theater, tell me never to trouble you more, or to come and rejoin you. 
I shall either be at your feet or forever dumb, as you may decide.” 

‘‘Oh, noble Albert !” exclaimed Consuelo, pressing the 
letter to her lips, “1 feel that I love you! It would be 
impossible not to love you, and I will not hesitate to tell 
you so; I long to reward you by my promise for your love 
and constancy.” 

She immediately began to write; but Porpora’s voice 
made her quickly conceal Albert’s letter as well as her 
reply. Throughout the day she had not a moment’s 
leisure or security. It seemed as if the cynical old man 
had divined her desire to be alone, and had resolved to 
prevent it. When night came Consuelo was more tran- 
quil, and could reflect that so important a determination 
required a longer trial of her own feelings. It would be 
wrong to spbject Albert to the hazard of any change in her 
feelings toward him. 

She read and re-read a hundred times the young count’s 
letter, and perceived that he feared equally the pain of a 
refusal and the danger of a hasty promise. She detei’- 
mined to take some days to consider her reply, a step 
which Albert himself seemed to desire. 

The life which Consuelo now led at the embassy was 
quiet and regular in the extreme. To give no grounds for 
scandal. Corner was considerate enough not to visit Con- 
suelo in her own suit of apartments, and never invite her, 
even in company with Porpora, to his. He only saw her 
in the presence of Wilhelmina, where they could converse 
together with perfect propriety and enjoy a little music. 
Joseph also was admitted to these musical parties, where 
Caffariello came often. Count Hoditz sometimes, and the 
Abbe Metastasio rarely. All three regretted Consuelo’s 
failure, but not one of them had the courage or persever- 
ance to make any attempt in her favor. Porpora was 
indignant, and had much difiiculty in concealing it. Con- 


CONStTELO, 


siielo endeavored to calm him, and persuade him to take 
men as he found them, with all their faults and weaknesses. 
She induced him to exert himself, and, thanks to her, he 
was occasionally visited by gleams of hope and enthusiasm. 
She encouraged him only in his dislike to bring her before 
the public. Happy at being forgotten by those great 
people whom she had looked upon with terror and repug- 
nance, she addicted herself to serious study and delightful 
reveries, cultivated the friendship of the good Haydn, and 
each day said to herself, while she lavished every care and 
attention on her old master, that if nature had not intended 
her for a life free from emotion and bustle, still less had 
it intended her for the pursuits of vanity and ambition. She 
had dreamed, and still dreamed in spite of herself, of a 
more animated existence, of deeper and more heartfelt 
joys, of the pleasures of a boundless and ever expanding 
intellect; but the World of art which she had imagined so 
noble and so pure, had shown itself on a nearer view under 
so ugly and forbidding an aspect, that she chose in pre- 
ference a life of obscurity and retirement, gentle affections, 
and a solitude sweetened by labor. 

Consuelo had no further reflections to make relative to 
the offer of the Eiulolstadts. She could not entertain a 
doubt of their generosity, of the unalterable love of the 
son, and the indulgent tenderness of the father. It was 
no longer her reason and her conscience that she felt it 
necessary to interrogate: both spoke for Albert. She had 
triumphed on this occasion without any effort to banish 
the remembrance of Anzoleto. A victory over love gives 
strength for every subsequent struggle. She no longer 
feared his attractions, and she felt herself beyond the risk 
of fascination; and yet, with all this, love did not plead 
with passion in her heart for Albert. She had still to 
question that heart whose mysterious calmness ever wel- 
comed the idea of a full and perfect love. Seated at her 
window, the gentle girl often gazed at the passers-by; 
rough students, noble lords, melancholy artists, proud 
cavaliers, all were in turns the object of a serious and 
innocent inquiry. 

Alas!” said she, ^^is my heart frivolous or capricious? 
Am 1 capable of loving, deeply loving, at first sight, as my 
companions of the Scuola have so often confessed and even 
boasted to each other before me. Is love a magic flame, 


’CONSUELO. 


663 


which overwhelms our whole being, and turns us irresis- 
tibly from our sacred and peaceful affections? Is there 
among those who sometimes raise their eyes to my window 
one whose look troubles and fascinates me? Is this one 
with his- lordly walk and noble figure more beautiful than 
Albert? Or is that one with his curling and perfumed 
locks and elegant attire calculated to displace the image of 
my betrothed ? Or would I be the decked-out lady whom 
I see rolling past in yonder carriage with her haughty and 
handsome cavalier, who holds her fan and presents her 
gloves? Is there aught in all that which makes me tremble 
or blush, or which causes my heart to palpitate? No; no, 
in truth. Speak, my heart, for now I will question you 
and submit to your decrees. Alas I I hardly know you, 
for since my birth we have been almost strangers. I have 
never contradicted you; I gave you up the empire of my 
life without examining or bridling your impulses. You 
have been crushed, poor heart, and, now that conscience 
rules you, you can no longer live, know no longer what to 
say. Speak, then; rouse yourself and choose ! Well, you 
are tranquil, and would have nothing that you see there ?^^ 

You would not have Anzoleto?” 

Again ‘‘No.^^ 

‘‘ Then it is Albert whom you call? It seems to me that 
you whispered yes.” 

And Consuelo retired each day from her window with a 
joyous smile on her lips, and a gentler radiance in her 
eyes. 

At the end of a month she replied to Albert calmly, 
with perfect self-possession, and her pulse beating as 
gently as an infantas: 

‘^I love none but you, and I am almost certain that I 
love you. In the meantime, leave me to dream of the 
possibility of our union. Let it be ever present to your 
thoughts, and let us together find some expedient to avoid 
vexing either your father or my master, lest we become 
selfish in becoming happy.” 

She added to this note a short letter to Count Christian, 
in which she described the quiet life she led, and announced 
the respite which the new projects of Porpora had granted 
her. She begged that they would endeavor to find some 
means of disarming Porpora's resentment, and of breaking 


664 


GONSUELO. ' 


the intelligence to him in the course of the month. A 
month still remained to prepare the maestro for the an- 
nouncement before the Berlin affair should be settled. 

Oonsuelo, having sealed these two letters, placed them 
on the table and fell asleep. A delicious calm had 
descended upon her soul, and she had not for a long time 
enjoyed such deep and undisturbed repose. She awoke 
late, and rose hastily in order to see Keller, who had 
promised to return for her letter at eight. It was now 
nine, ^nd, while hastening to dress, Consuelo saw with 
terror that the letter w'as no longer where she had placed 
it. She sought it everywhere, but in vain. She left the 
room to see if Keller might not be waiting in the ante- 
chamber, but neither Keller nor Joseph was to be found; 
and as she re-entered her apartment to search a second 
time for her letter, she saw Porpora there, who seemed to 
await her approach, and who fixed upon her a stern and 
threatening look. 

What do you seek?’^ said he. 

I have mislaid a sheet of music.” 

‘^You do not speak the truth; it is a letter that you 
seek.” 

Master ” 

'^Be silent, Consuelo; you are yet but a novice in deceit, 
do not now commence to study it.” 

Master, what have you done with the letter? 

I gave it to Keller.” 

And wherefore did you give it to him?” 

Because he came for it, as you told him yesterday. 
You know not how to feign, or rather I have quicker ears 
than you think.” 

^‘But in one word,” said Consuelo, firmly, ^Mvhat have 
you done with my letter?” 

I have told you, why do you ask again? I did not think 
it right that a well-conducted girl, such as you are, and al- 
ways will be, should give letters in confidence to her hair- 
dresser. To prevent people having an ill opinion of you, I 
myself gave the letter quietly to Keller, and commissioned 
him from you to dispatch it. He will not think at least 
that you hide a secret from your father.” 

Master, you have done well. Pardon me!” 

I pardon you. Let us say no more.” 

And you have read my letter?” said Consuelo, with a 
timid and deprecating tone. 


C0N8UEL0. 


G65 


^‘For whom do you take me?’^ replied Porpora, with a 
terrible look. 

Pardon me for what I have done,” said Oonsuelo, 
bending her knee before him, and endeavoring to take his 
hand; ‘Met me open my heart to you, and ” 

“ Not another word,” replied the maestro, repulsing 
her. 

And he entered his own room, and shut the door vio- 
lently behind him. 

Consuelo hoped that this outburst once over, she might 
be able to appease his anger, and at the same time explain 
matters to him. She felt assured that she would 
have courage to open her whole mind to him, and 
hoped by so doing to hasten the issue of her 
wishes ; but he refused all explanation, and evinced 
the utmost displeasure whenever the subject was men- 
tioned. In other respects he was as friendly toward 
her as ever, and even appeared more contented and cheer- 
ful than he had been for a long time. Consuelo looked upon 
this as a good augury, and calmly avvaited a reply from 
Kiesenburg. 

In one respect Porpora had not told an untruth, for he 
had burned Consuelo's letters without reading them, but 
he had kept the envelope, and substituted in place of the 
original letter, one from himself to Count Christian. He 
hoped by this bold step at once to save his pupil, and spare 
Count Christian a sacrifice beyond his strength. He be- 
lieved that in so doing he was acting toward him as a faith- 
ful friend, and toward Consuelo as a wise and energetic 
father, did not foresee that he might thus inflict a fatal 
blow upon Count Albert. Hardly knowing the young 
nobleman, he believed that Consuelo had been guilty of 
exaggeration with regard to him, and that he was neither 
so ill nor so attached to her as she had imagined. More- 
over he held, like all old men, that love sooner or later 
comes to an end, and that disappointed affection kills no- 
body. 


666 


C0N8UEL0 


CHAPTER XOV. 

Awaitii^g a reply which she could not receive, since 
Porpora had burned her letter, Consuelo persevered in the 
calm and studious course of life which she had adopted. 
Her presence attracted to Madame Wilhelmina^s apart- 
ment many distinguished persons whom she had pleasure 
in meeting, and among others, Baron Frederick Trenck, 
for whom she felt a lively sympathy. He had the delicacy 
not to address her as an old acquaintance at their first 
meeting, but to have himself presented, after she had sung, 
as a profound admirer and as deeply affected by her per- 
formance. On seeing again this handsome and brave 
young man, who had so courageously saved her from 
Mayer and his band, Consuelo^s first impulse was to hold 
out her hand. The baron, ‘who would not suffer her to 
commit any imprudence in testifying her gratitude to him, 
hastened to take her hand as if to lead her to her chair, 
pressing it gently by way of thanks. She afterward 
learned from Joseph, from whom the baron took instruc- 
tions in music, that he never failed to inquire kindly for 
her, and to speak of her with admiration, but from a feel- 
ing of almost romantic delicacy, forbore to question him as 
to the motives of their disguise, their adventurous voyage, 
and the sentiments which they might have had, or might 
still have, for each other. 

‘^1 do not know what he thinks of it,^^ added Joseph; 

but I can assure you that there is no woman of whom he 
speaks with so much esteem and respect.’^ 

^^In that case, friend Beppo,^^said Consuelo, I author- 
ize you to tell him all our story, and my own as well, with- 
out, however, mentioning the family of Rudolstadt. I 
must have the unreserved esteem of a man to whom we 
owe our life, and who has conducted himself so nobly 
toward me in every respect.” 

Some weeks afterward, Baron Trenck, although having 
scarcely fulfilled his mission to Vienna, was abruptly re- 
called by Frederick, and came one morning to the embassy 
to bid a hasty adieu to Signor Corner. Consuelo, on de- 
scending the staircase to go out, met him under the por- 
tal, and as they were alone he approached and kissed her 
band tenderly. 


C0N8UEL0, 


667 

Allow me/^ said he, to express, for the first and per- 
haps the last time in my life, the sentiments I entertain 
toward you. There was no occasion for Beppo to tell 
your story to arouse my admiration. There are some coun- 
tenances which never deceive, and it needed no more than 
a glance to assure me that yours was the index of a lofty 
intellect and a noble heart. Had I known at Passau that 
our dear Joseph was so little on his guard, I would have 
protected you against Count Hoditz's folly, which I fore- 
saw only too plainly, although I did all that I could to 
make him aware that lie was mistaken in your character, 
and would assuredly render himself ridiculous. However, 
the good-natured Hoditz told me himself how you had 
mocked him, and expressed himself infinitely obliged to 
you for having kept the secret. As to myself, I shall 
never forget the romantic adventure which procured me 
the pleasure of your acquaintance, and even were the loss 
of my fortune and my prospects to be the penalty, I 
should still look back to it as one of the happiest days 
of my life.” 

Do you think then, baron,” said Consuelo, that 
such results could possibly ensue?” 

I hope not; nevertheless every thing is possible at the 
court of the King of Prussia.” 

You make me greatly afraid of Prussia. Do you 
know, baron, it is possible I may have the pleasure of 
meeting you there soon, since there is some talk of an en- 
gagement at Berlin.” 

Indeed?” exclaimed Trenck, his countenance beaming 
with sudden joy; Heaven grant it! I may be of service 
to you at Berlin, and you may rely on me as a brother. 
Yes, Consuelo, I feel toward you the affection of a brother; 
and had I been free, I might perhaps have been unable to 
forbid myself a more endearing emotion. But you your- 
self are not free; and sacred, eternal bonds do not permit 
me to envy the fortunate nobleman who asks your hand. 
Whoever he may be, madam, he will find in me, if he 
wishes, a friend on whom he can reply, and, if needful, a 
champion against the prejudices of the world. Alas I 
Consuelo, there is also in my case a'dreadful barrier ex- 
isting between me and my loved one. He who loves you 
is a man and may break down the barrier, but she whom I 
love is of higher rank than mine, and has neither power, 
nor right, nor strength, nor liberty, to cast it down.” 


668 


C0N8UEL0. 


can do nothing then for you or her exclaimed Con- 
snelo. For the first time in my life I regret my poor 
and helpless position.” 

‘‘Who knows?” exclaimed the baron, gaily, “you may 
do more than you think, if not indeed to insure our union, 
at least to soften the rigors of our separation. Do you feel 
sufficient courage to incur a little danger for us?” 

“ Yes! with the same readiness and joy that you exposed 
your life to save me.” 

“Well, I shall rely upon you. You will recollect your 
promise, and it may be that, one day or other, I shall re- 
quire its fulfillment.” 

“ Whatever be the day or hour, I shall never forget it,” 
she replied, holding out her hand. 

“ Well then,” said he, “give me a sign; some slight 
token which I can send to you when the time arrives. For 
I foresee great struggles, and circumstances may occur 
when my signature or even my seal might endanger both 
her and you.” 

“ Will you have this roll of music, which I was carrying 
to one of my master Porpora’s friends? 1 can get another, 
and shall mark this one, so as to know it again.” 

“Why not? A roll of music is one of those things 
which can be best sent without exciting suspicion. But I 
will separate the sheets, that I may make use of them 
several times. Make a mark on eacli page.” 

Consuelo, resting upon the balustrade of the staircase, 
wrote the name of Bertoni upon each sheet of the music. 
The baron rolled it up and carried it away, after having 
sworn eternal friendship to our heroine. 

At this period Madame Tesi fell ill, and the perform- 
ances at the imperial theater threatened to be suspended, 
as she performed the most important parts. Gorilla 
could, if necessary, replace her. She had great success 
both at the court and in the city. Her beauty and her 
saucy coquetry turned the heads of the good German 
noblemen, and they did not dream of criticizing her voice, 
which was somewhat worn, or her rather forced and un- 
natural acting. All was thought beautiful coming from 
so beautiful a creature. Her snowy shoulders gave forth 
admirable sounds, her round and voluptuous arms always 
sang just, and her superb attitudes carried her through the 
most hazardous passages without opposition. Not with- 


CONSUELO. 


669 


standing the musical taste on which they prided them- 
selves, the Viennese, as well as the Venetians, surrendered 
to the fascination of a languishing look, and Gorilla, by 
her exquisite beauty, prepared many to be rapt and intoxi- 
cated by her performances. 

She therefore boldly presented herself to sing, in the 
meantime, the parts of Madame Tesi; but the difficulty 
was how to replace herself, in those she had sung. Ma- 
dame Holzbauer’s flute like voice did not permit her to be 
thought of. It was therefore necessary to admit Consuelo, 
or to be satisfied with inferior performers. Porpora 
worked like a demon; Metastasio, horribly dissatisfied with 
Gorilla’s Lombard pronunciation, and indignant at the at- 
tempts she made to drown the other parts (contrary to the 
spirit of the poem and in spite of the situation), no longer 
concealed his antipathy to her, nor his sympathy for the 
conscientious and intelligent Porporina. 

Madame Tesi already detested Gorilla cordially for en- 
deavoring to rival her and dispute with her the palm of 
beauty, and Gaffariello, who paid his court to Tesi, spoke 
loudly in favor of the admission of Gonsuelo. Holzbaiier, 
anxious to sustain the character of his management, but 
terrified at the ascendancy which Porpora would acquire if 
once admitted behind the scenes, knew not which way to 
turn. Gonsuelo’s prudent and dignified conduct had won 
her so many friends that it would be difficult to misrepre- 
sent her to the empress much longer. On all these ac- 
counts Gonsuelo received proposals ; but they were pur- 
posely made humiliating in hopes of their meetiiig with a 
refusal. Porpora, however, accepted them at once, and as 
usual without consulting her. One fine morning Gonsuelo 
found herself engaged for six representations, and, without 
power to escape or being able to understand why, after 
waiting six weeks, she had not heard from the Rudolstadts, 
she was dragged by Porpora to a rehearsal of the Antigone 
of Metastasio, written for the music of Hasse. 

Gonsuelo had already studied the part with Porpora. 
Without doubt it was a source of severe suffering for the 
latter to be obliged to teach her the music of his rival— 
the most ungrateful of his pupils, and the enemy which 
from henceforth he most bitterly hated — but besides that 
this was a necessary step to pave the way for his own com- 
positions, Porpora was too conscientious an artist not to 


670 


GONSUELO. 


apply all his zeal and attention to the task. Consiielo 
aided him so generously, that he was at once ravished and 
in despair. In spite of herself, the poor girl found Hasse 
magnificent ; her heart responded more warmly to the 
tender and passionate accents of the Saxon, than to the 
somewhat cold and naked grandeur of her own master. 
Accustomed while studying the other great masters with him 
to give full vent to her enthusiasm, she was forced on this 
occasion to restrain herself on seeing the melancholy which 
was imprinted on his brow, and the gloomy reverie into 
which he sunk when the lesson was over. When she 
entered on the stage to rehearse with Caffariello and 
Gorilla, although she was well acquainted with the part, 
she felt so agitated that she could hardly commence the 
scene between Ismenio and Berenice, which begins thus : 

“No; tutto, o Berenice, 

Tu non apri il tuo cor,” etc. * 

To which Gorilla replied: 

“ E ti par poco, 

Quel che sai de’ miei casi?” f 

Here Gorilla was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter 
from Gaffariello. Turning to him with eyes sparkling 
with anger she exclaimed : 

“ What do you find so amusing in that?” 

^‘You have spoken well, plumpest of Berenices!” re- 
plied Gaffariello, laughing still more loudly ; no one 
could speak with more sincerity.” 

‘‘Then it is the words which arhuse you?” said Holz- 
baiier, who would not have been sorry to repeat to Metas- 
tasio the sarcasms of the soprano on his verses. 

“The words are beautiful,” replied Caffariello, drily, 
who knew his design ; “but their application just now is 
so happy, that I could not help laughing.” 

And he lield his sides as he repeated to Porpora: 

“ E ti par poco, 

Quel clie sai di tanti casi?” 


* “ No, Berenice, tliou dost not here fully open thy heart.” 
f “ What thou knowest of my adventures seems to thee, then, a 
trifling matter?” 


C0N8UEL0, 


671 


Gorilla, now perceiving the bitter allusion to her habits, 
and trembling at once with hate, rage, and apprehension, 
was ready to fly at Consuelo, and sink her nails in her 
face ; but the countenance of the latter was so calm and 
gentle that she dare not venture. Besides, the feeble 
light which penetrated into the theater, falling on her 
rivaFs face, suggested vague recollections and strange 
terrors. She had never seen her closely or by daylight at 
Venice. Amidst the pains of her confinement, she had a 
confused remembrance of the little gypsy Bertoni hover- 
ing arqiind her, but she could not understand the motives 
for his attentions. She now endeavored to recall the dif- 
ferent occurrences which had taken place, but not suc- 
ceeding, she remained discomfited and uneasy during the 
whole rehearsal. The Porporina’s style of singing only 
added to her ill humor, and the presence of her former 
master, who like a severe judge listened silently and almost 
contemptuously, became gradually an insupportable tor- 
ment. Holzbaiier was hardly less mortified when the 
maestro told him that his directions were altogether erro- 
neous ; and he was perforce obliged to believe him, for 
Porpora had been present at the rehearsal .which Hasse 
himself conducted at Dresden on the first bringing out of 
his opera. 

The necessity of obtaining good advice dispelled ill-will, 
and imposed silence on the discontented. Porpora con- 
ducted the entire rehearsal, pointed out to each his duty, 
and even reproved Oaifariello, who affected to listen to 
his advice with respect in order to give it more weight 
with the others. Oaffariello^s solo aim was to annoy the 
impertinent rival of Madame Tesi, and he spared no pains, 
not even an act of submission and modesty, to obtain that 
pleasure. It is thus among artists as among diplomatists, 
on the stage as in the cabinet, that the noblest as well as 
the meanest affairs have their hidden causes, often in- 
finitely petty and frivolous. 

On returning from the rehearsal, Consuelo found Joseph 
filled with some hidden joy. When they had an opportu- 
nity of speaking, he informed her that the good canon 
had arrived in Vienna, and that his first care had been to 
inquire for his dear Beppo, and make him jiai take of an 
excellent breakfast, asking him all the while a thousand 
affectionate questions about his dear Bertoni, They had 


672 


C0N8UEL0, 


already discussed the means of becoming acquainted with 
Porpora, so as to meet together without reserve or mystery. 
The very next day the canon presented himself as a pro- 
tector of Joseph Haydn, and a warm admirer of the 
maestro, whom he thanked for the lessons he had been 
good enough to give his young friend. Consuelo saluted 
him as if she had seen him for the first time, and in the 
evening the maestro and his two pupils partook of a friendly 
dinner with the canon. Unless Porpora had atfected a 
greater degree of stoicism than the musicians of that 
period, even the most celebrated, piqued themselves upon, 
it would have been difficult for him to avoid liking this 
excellent canon, whose table was so good, and whose ad- 
miration for his works was so great. They had some 
music after dinner, and from thenceforth saw each other 
every day. 

This was a further relief to the anxiety which Consuelo 
felt at Albert’s silence. The canon was of an unaffected, 
lively temperament, gay, yet observing the strictest pro- 
priety, and possessing an exquisite taste and a just and 
enlightened judgment. In short he was a most valuable 
friend, and a winning and amiable companion. His society 
animated and strengthened the maestro, softened the 
ascerbities of his temper, and in the same proportion re- 
lieved and gratified Consuelo. 

One day that there was no rehearsal — it was the secon 
before the representation of Antigone — Porpora having 
gone to the country with an associate, the canon proposed 
to his young friends to make a descent on the priory in 
order to surprise his people whom he had left behind, "and 
see if the gardener’s wife took good care of Angela, and 
the gardener did not neglect the volkameria. The invita- 
tion was accepted. The carriage was loaded with pastry 
and bottles, to satisfy the appetite which a journey of four 
leagues is certain to create, and they arrived safely at the 
canon’s residence, after making a slight detour and leav- 
ing the carriage at some distance, in order to create the 
greater surprise. 

The volkameria was in splendid condition. Its bloom 
was over on account of the cold, but its beautiful leaves fell 
gracefully around its lofty stem. The hot-house was in 
the nicest order; the blue chrysanthemums had braved the 
winter stoutly, and seemed to laugh from behind the glass. 


C0N8UEL0. 


673 


Angela, hanging by the nurse’s breast, began to smile also 
when incited by her playful gestures, but the canon ju- 
diciously ordered that she should not be made to laugh too 
often, since witli creatures so young, such a course might 
put the nervous system in disorder. 

They were all three chatting pleasantly in the gardener’s 
little abode, the canon, wrapped in his furred cloak, was 
warming his legs before a famous fire of dried roots and 
fircones, Joseph was playing with the pretty children of 
the gardener’s handsome wife, while Oonsuelo, seated in 
the middle of the apartment, held Angela in her arms 
and looked at her with a mixture of pain and tenderness, 
when the door suddenly opened and Gorilla stood before 
her, like a phantom summoned up by her melancholy 
m usings. 

For the first time since the birth of her child, Gorilla 
had ‘felt an impulse of maternal love, and had set out to 
see her child secretly. She was aware that the canon was 
residing in Vienna; and having arrived about half an hour 
after him, and not seeing the traces of his carriage-wheels 
in the vicinity of the priory, she had entered the garden, 
and proceeded straight to the house where she knew that 
Angela was at nurse, for she had taken care to procure in- 
formation on this subject. She had laughed not a little at 
the embarrassment and Ghristian resignation of the canon, 
but she was wholly ignorant of the part which Gonsuelo had 
taken in the transaction. It was with a mixture of surprise 
and consternation therefore that she thus encountered her 
rival, and not knowing nor daring to guess what infant it 
was she rocked in her arms, she was about to turn on her 
heel and fiy. But Gonsuelo, who had instinctively clasped 
the infant to her bosom, as the partridge hides her young 
at the approach of the hawk — Gonsuelo, who next day 
might present Gorilla’s secret in a very different point of 
view from that which was generally believed — Gonsuelo, 
who gazed at her with a mixture of terror and indignation, 
held her rooted as if by fascination to the spot. Gorilla, 
however, had been too long accustomed to the stage to lose 
her presence of mind. Her tactics-were to anticipate any 
humiliating remarks by offering her rival an insult, and 
to gain time she commenced the following bitter apostrophe 
in the Venetian dialect. 

Oh! ho! my poor zingarella, is this a foundling hospital 


674 


G0N8UEL0. 


you have here? Are you come to seeh or to leave? for 
I perceive our fortune has been much the same? Doubt- 
less this infant is the handsome Anzoleto^s, who I was 
sorry to hear did not hasten to rejoin you when he left us 
so suddenly in the midst of his engagement last season.” 

Madam,” replied Consuelo,«pale but calm, ^‘if I had 
had the misfortune to be as intimate with Anzoleto as 
you have been, and had the happiness of being a mother, 
for it is always a happiness to one who has a feeling heart, 
my child would not be here.” 

Ah!” replied the other, with a gloomy fire in her eyes, 
it would have been brought up at the Villa Zustiniani. 
But as you have not been, as you allege, unfortunate with 
Anzoleto, Joseph Haydn, your master’s pupil, it seems, 
consoles you for the mishap, and doubtless the infant 
which you nurse ” 

Is your own, mademoiselle,” exclaimed Joseph, ‘who 
had learned the Venetian dialect, and who now interposed 
between Consuelo and Gorilla with a look which made the 
latter recoil. It is Joseph Haydn who will certify it, for 
he was present when you gave it birth.” 

Joseph’s face, which Gorilla had not seen since that un- 
happy day, brought back the circumstances which she had 
vainly endeavored to recall, and in the zingari Bertoni she 
at once recognized the features of the zingarella Gonsuelo. 
A cry of surprise escaped her, and for some minutes anger 
and shame struggled for supremacy in her bosom; but her 
sarcastic disposition soon resumed its sway. 

In truth, my young friends,” she exclaimed, with a 
malignant yet fawning air, I did not recollect you. You 
looked remarkably well when I met you seeking your for- 
tune, and Gonsuelo, I must confess, was a pretty youth in 
her disguise. It was in this sacred house, then, that she 
piously spent the year and a half which has elapsed since 
she left Venice. Gome, zingarella, my child, do not be 
uneasy. We are in possession of each other’s secrets, and 
the empress, who wishes to know every thing, shall learn 
nothing about either of us.” 

^^Even suppose I had a secret,” replied Gonsuelo, 
calmly, ^‘you have discovered it only to-day; while I was 
in possession of yours on the day when I had the interview 
with the empress, and three days before your engagement 
was signed. Gorilla I” 


OOmVELO. 


675 

And you spoke ill of me to her exclaimed Gorilla, 
reddening with anger. 

Had I told her what I know of you, you would not 
have been engaged. That you are so, proves sufficiently 
that I did not take advantage of the opportunity.'’^ 

And why did you not? You must be a great fool !” 
replied Gorilla, with a candor and perversity truly won- 
derful. 

Gonsuelo and Joseph could not avoid smiling as they 
looked at each other; but Joseph’s smile was full of con- 
tempt, while that of Gonsuelo displayed only angelic 
goodness. 

Yes, madam,” she replied, with unconquerable sweet- 
ness, I am as you say, and I am happy that I am so.” 

‘^Not so happy, my poor girl, since I have been en- 
gaged, and you are not so,” replied Gorilla, a little shaken 
in her confidence, and becoming by degrees more thought- 
ful. ‘‘They said at Venice t&t you had no sense, and 
could not manage your affairs. It is the only true thing 
that Anzoleto told me of you. But what is to be done? 
It is not my fault if it be so. Had I been in your place, 
I would have said what I knew of Gorilla; I woulcT have 
represented myself as a vestal, a saint. The empress 
would have believed it, for she is not hard to persuade, and 
I would have supplanted all my rivals. But you have not 
done so! It is very strange, and I pity you sincerely for 
having so badly steered your bark.” 

For once, contempt got the better of their indignation, 
and Gonsuelo and Joseph burst into a laugh, while Gor- 
illa, whose bitterness had gradually evaporated on witness- 
ing what she called her rival’s impotence, ceased to act on 
the offensive, and assuming an easy air, drew her chair to 
the fire, in order to continue the conversation quietly, and 
thus learn better both the weak and strong side of her 
opponents. At this instant she found herself face to face 
with the canon, whom she had not hitherto perceived, 
since the latter, prompted by his professional prudence, 
had signed to the gardener’s buxom wife and two children 
to stand before him, until he should find out what was 
going on. 


6V6 


C0N8UEL0. 


CHAPTER XOVL 

After the insinuation which she had so recently haz- 
arded respecting Oonsuelo, the sight of the good canon 
produced upon Gorilla the effect of a Medusa^s head. She 
took courage, however, on reflecting that she had spoken 
in Venetian, and she saluted him with that mixture of 
effrontery and embarrassment which characterizes women 
of Corilla^s description. The canon, usually so polished 
and graceful a host, neither rose nor even returned her 
salute. Gorilla, who had made particular inquiries respect- 
ing him at Vienna, was informed by every one that he was 
a man of exquisite breeding, a great amateur in music, and 
incapable of lecturing any woman, and least of all a cele- 
brated singer. She had therefore planned to go to see him, 
and as it were fascinate him into silence. But if she had 
more cleverness in invention and intrigue than Consuelo, 
she had also the careless, disorderly habits, the indolence, 
and even the slatterliness — for all these qualities are gener- 
ally found united — characteristic of low and groveling 
mindfe. Bodily and mental slothfulness neutralize the 
efforts of intrigue ; and Gorilla, though capable of any 
perfidy, had rarely sufficient energy to turn it to good 
account. She had therefore put off from day to day her 
visit to the canon, and when she found him so cold and 
severe, she began to be visibly disconcerted. 

Them seeking to recover herself by a bold stroke, she 
said to Gonsuelo, who held Angela in her arms: 

Well, why doiPt you let me embrace my daughter and 
lay her at his reverence the canon^s feet, that ” 

Dame Gorilla,^’ said the canon, in the same dry and 
coldly satirical tone in which he had formerly said Dame 
Bridgety have the goodness to let that child alone.” 

Then expressing himself in Italian with much elegance, 
although rather too slowly, he thus continued, without re- 
moving his cap from his head — ‘‘ During the fifteen min- 
utes I have been listening to you, although I am not very 
familiar with your patois, I have understood enough to 
warrant me in telling you that you are by far the most 
shameless creature I ever met with in my life. Neverthe- 
less I believe you more stupid than wicked, more base and 
cowardly than dangerous." You comprehend nothing of 


CONSUELO. 


677 


the beauty of virtue, and it would be only a waste of 
time to attempt to make you comprehend it. I have 
merely one thing to say to you: that young girl, that spot- 
less virgin, that saint, as you called her just now in mock- 
ery — you pollute by speaking to her; therefore speak not 
to her again. As to this child which was born of you, you 
would disgrace it by your touch; tlierefore touch it not. 
An infant is a holy being; Consuelo has said it, and I felt 
the truth of her words. It was from the intercession, the 
persuasion of Consuelo, that I ventured to take charge of 
your daughter, without a fear that the perverse instincts 
she might have inherited from you would one day make 
me repent it. We said to each other that divine good- 
ness gives to every creature the power of knowing and 
practicing what is good, and we resolved to teach her 
what is good and to make the path of virtue pleas- 
ant and easy to her. With you it would be far other- 
wise. From this day, therefore, you will no longer 
consider this child as yours. You liave abandoned it, 
ceded it, given it away; it no longer belongs to you. You 

remitted a sum of money to pay for its education 

Here he made a sign to the gardener’s wife, who took 
from the wardrobe a purse tied and sealed, the same which 
Gorilla had sent to the canon with her daughter, and 
which had not been opened. He took it and threw it at 
Gorilla’s feet, adding: “We will have nothing to do with 
it and do not want it. In the meantime I request you to 
leave my house, and never to set foot in it again under 
any pretext whatever. On these conditions, and provided 
you never utter a word respecting the circumstances 
which have forced us into a connection with you, we 
promise to observe the mdst absolute silence respecting all 
that concerns you. But if you act otherwise, I warn you 
that I have means which you know not of, of letting her 
imperial majesty hear the truth, and you may suddenly 
exchange your theatrical crown and the applause of your 
admirers, for a residence of some years in a Magdalene 
asylum.” 

Having thus spoken, the canon rose, signed to the nurse 
to* take the child, and motioned to Gonsuelo to retire with 
Joseph to the other end of the apartment; he then pointed 
with his finger to the door, and Gorilla, pale, trembling, 
terrified, tottered out, hardly knowing where she went or 
what she did. 


678 


C0N8UEL0. 


The canon during this outburst had been inspired with 
a feeling of honest and manly indignation which had ren- 
dered him unusually forcible. Consuelo and Joseph had 
never before seen him so powerful. The authoritative 
habits which never abandon a priest, and also the attitude 
of royal command which is to some extent hereditary, and 
which in this instance proclaimed him the son of Augustus 
II, invested the canon, possibly without his being aware of 
it, with a sort of irresistible majesty. Gorilla, who, for 
the first time in her life, heard herself addressed in the 
calm and severe accents of truth, felt more terror and 
affright than all her furious lovers in their revengeful out- 
bursts had ever inspired her with. An Italian and super- 
stitious, she felt a vivid terror of the ecclesiastic and his 
curse, and fled in a distracted manner across the garden, 
while the canon, exhausted by an effort so unusual to his 
calm and benevolent character, fell back in his chair pale 
and almost fainting. 

While hastening to his assistance, Consuelo involuntarily 
cast a glance at the uncertain and tottering steps of the 
unfortunate Gorilla. Whether it was that the wretched 
woman missed her footing in her agitation, or that her 
strength became exhausted, she saw her stumble at the end 
of a walk, and fall prostrate upon the ground. The lesson 
was a severer one than Consuelo’s kind heart would have 
been able to inflict, and leaving the canon to the care of 
Joseph, she ran to aid her rival, whom she found strug- 
gling in a violent fit of hysterics. Unable to calm her, 
and not daring to bring her to the priory, she was 
obliged to limit her endeavors to preventing her from rolling 
on the walk, or tearing her hands with the gravel. Gorilla 
was almost deranged for some moments; but when she saw 
who was assisting and trying to console her, she became 
calm and deadly pale. She kept her livid lips closed in a ^ 
gloomy silence, and her eyes immovably fixed upon the * 
ground. She suffered Consuelo, however, to lead her to 
the carriage which waited at the gate, and, supported by 
her rival, she entered it without uttering a word. 

You are very ill,” said Consuelo, frightened at the ex- 
pression of her countenance; permit me to accompany 
you a part of the way; I can return on foot.” 

Gorilla's only reply was to thrust her back, while she 
looked at her with an indefinable expression. Then sobbing 


GommLo, 


m 


aloud, she hid her face with one of her hands, while witli 
the other she signed to the coachman to proceed, at the 
same time pulling down the blind between herself and her 
generous enemy. 

Next day being the last rehearsal of Antigone, Consuelo 
was at her post at the appointed hour, and they only 
awaited the arrival of Gorilla to commence. The latter 
sent hev servant to say that she would be there in half an 
hour. Catfariello consigned her to the infernal regions, 
affirming with an oath that he would not submit to the 
caprice of any such person, and that he was determined 
not to wait a moment longer. Madame Tesi, although 
pale and suffering, had determined to be present at the re- 
hearsal, in order to amuse herself at Gorilla’s expense; and 
for this purpose she had dragged herself to the theater, 
and now lay reclining at full length on a sofa, which she 
had caused to be placed at one of the side-scenes. She 
calmed her friend, and persisted in awaiting Gorilla’s 
arrival, thinking that it was from fear of being controlled 
by her that she hesitated to appear. At last Gorilla 
arrived, paler and more languishing than I’esi herself, who, 
on her side, regained her color and strength on seeing her 
rival in such a plight. In place of throwing off her hat 
and mantle in her usual saucy fashion, she seated herself 
on a gilt throne which had been forgotten on the stage, 
and thus addressed Holzbaiier: 

Mr. Director, I beg to tell you that I am exceedingly 
unwell, that my voice is completely gone, and that I have 
passed a frightful night.” 

Tesi languidly interchanged a malicious glance with 
Gaffariello. 

And that, for all these reasons, it is impossible for me 
either to rehearse to-day or sing to-morrow, unless I re- 
sume the part of Ismenia, and you give that of Berenice to 
another.” 

Is this really your intention, madam?” exclaimed the 
thunderstruck Holzbaiier. Is it on the eve of represen- 
tation, and when the court has fixed the hour, that you 
would allege indisposition? It is impossible! I can by no 
means consent to it.” 

"^You must, however,” rej^lied she, resuming her 
natural tone of voice, which was any thing but gentle. I 
am only engaged for second-rate parts, and nothing in my 


680 


commLo. 


engagement obliges me to take tlie first. It was a feeling 
of civility on my part which induced me to accept them, 
in order to oblige Signora Tesi, and not to interrupt the 
pleasures of the court. I am too ill to keep my promise, 
and you cannot oblige me to sing against my will.” 

My dear friend, they will make you sing by command,” 
said Oaffariello; ‘^and you will sing badly; we were per- 
fectly prepared for it. It is but a trifling misfortune in 
addition to those which you have so often confronted, but 
it is too late to draw back. You should have thought about 
it sooner. You have presumed too much upon your 
abilities. You will break down, but that is of little im- 
portance to us. I will sing in such a way that the audience 
will forget that there is even such a part as Berenice. 
Porporina also, in her little part of Ismenia, will compen- 
sate the public, and every one will be satisfied except 
yourself. It will be a lesson which you will profit by, or 
rather which you will not profit by, another time.” 

^‘You much deceive yourself as to the motives of my 
refusal,” replied Gorilla, boldly. ‘‘Were I not unwell, I 
should perhaps perform my part as well as another^ but, 
as I cannot sing, there is one present who will sing the 
part better than it was ever sung at Vienna, and that no 
later than to-morrow. So the opera will not be put off, 
and I shall resume witli pleasure the part of Ismenia, 
which will not fatigue me.” 

“What!” said Holzbauer, affecting surprise; “do you 
suppose that Madame Tesi will be well enough to-morrow 
to resume her part?” 

“ I know very well that Madame Tesi cannot sing for a 
long time,” said Gorilla aloud, so that Tesi could hear her 
from her sofa, which was not ten paces distant. “ See 
how changed she is! her face would frighten one. But I 
told you that you had a Berenice — a perfect, incomparable 
Berenice, superior to us all; and there she is,” added she, 
rising, and taking Gonsuelo by the hand, and leading her 
into the midst of the turbulent group which had collected 
around her. 

“I?” exclaimed Gonsuelo, as if waking from a dream. 

“ You,” replied Gorilla, pushing her upon the throne, 
almost with a convulsive effort. “You are now our 
queen, Porporina; your place is in the first rank. It is I 
who give it you; for I owe it to you. Never forget it!” 


CONSUELO. 


681 


Holzbauer, in the midst of his distress, and seeing him- 
self on the point of failing in his duty, and perhaps being 
obliged to send in his resignation, was unable to refuse 
this unexpected aid. It was obvious enough to him from 
Consuelo’s performance of Ismenia, that if she undertook 
the part of Berenice, she would perform it in a superior 
manner. In spite therefore of his repugnance toward 
Porpora and toward her, his only fear was that she would 
refuse the part. 

She did, in fact, refuse it very earnestly, and cordially 
pressing Gorilla’s hands, she warmly entreated her, in a 
low tone, not to incur for her sake a sacrifice which would 
not gratify her, while to her rival it would afford the 
greatest triumph, and would seem an act of the most 
humble submission that could be tendered. But Gorilla 
was immovable in her determination. Tesi, frightened 
at a junction which threatened such serious consequences 
to her, would have willingly attempted to resume her part 
should she even expire the moment after, for she was 
seriously indisposed; but she dared not do so. They were 
not suffered at the court theater to manifest those caprices 
to which the good-natured public of our day so patiently 
submits. The court expected something new in the part 
of Berenice; this had been announced, and the empress 
reckoned on it. 

Gome,” said Gaffariello to Porporina, you must 
decide. This is the first trait of common sense that 
Gorilla has ever shown in her life; let us take advantage 
of it.” 

‘^But I do not know the part,” said Gonsuelo. I 
have not studied it; I cannot have it prepared for to- 
morrow.” 

‘^You have heard it; therefore you know it, and you 
can sing it to-morrow,” thundered Porpora. Gome, no 
faces; let there be an end of the matter; we are only 
losing time, Mr. Director, you will instruct the orchestra 
to begin. And then, Berenice, to your place! Gome, lay 
down that music! when the piece has been rehearsed three 
times, every one ought to know it by heart. I tell you 
you know it.” 

No, tutto, 0 Berenice,'* sang Gorilla, becoming 
Ismenia again. 

Tu non apri 47 tno cor." 


682 


CONSUELO. 


'^Ancl now,” thought Gorilla, who judged of Oonsuelo 
3 by herself, ^\all that she hmtus of my adventures will 
appear nothing in her eyes.^^ 

Consuolo, with whose wonderful powers Porpora was 
well acquainted, sang her part, both music and words, 
without hesitation. Madame Tesi was so struck with her 
performance, that she found herself much worse, and had 
herself conveyed home after the rehearsal of the first act. 
Next day Oonsuelo had prepared her costume, gone over 
her striking positions, as well as repeated the whole, by 
five o’clock in the evening. Her success was so complete, 
that the empress said, on leaving the theatre: '^That is 
really an admirable girl: I must positively marry her: I 
will see about it.” 

Next day the ZenoMa of Metastasio, the music by 
Predieri, was put in rehearsal. Gorilla still persisted in 
handing over the part of prima donna to Oonsuelo. 
Madame Holzbaiier took the second part, and, as she was 
a better musician than Gorilla, the opera went off much 
better than the other. Metastasio was delighted to 
find his music, which had been somewhat neglected 
during the wars, once more regain favor and become 
the rage in Vienna. He no longer thought of his 
sufferings ; and, urged both by the kindness of Maria 
Theresa, and the duties of his place, to write ne\v lyric 
dramas, he prepared himself by the perusal of the Greek 
and Latin classics, to produce one of those master-pieces 
which the Italians of Vienna and the Germans of Italy 
unhesitatingly preferred to the works of Gorneille, Shake- 
speare, Racine, or Galderon. 

It is not here, amid these perhaps tedious details, that 
we shall weary the reader’s patience by giving him our 
opinion of Metastasio. It matters little to him what that 
opinion may be. We shall merely repeat what Gonsuelo 
said privately to Joseph on the subject. 

My poor Beppo, you cannot imagine the difficulty I 
have in performing those parts which they tell us are So 
sublime and pathetic. The words to be sure are well ar- 
ranged, and present themselves readily in singing ; but 
when I think of the personage who utters them, I do not 
know where to find, not inspiration, but even gravity suf- 
ficient to pronounce them. How strange a mistake it is 
to ascribe the notions of the present day. to antiquity, and 


CONSUELO. 


683 


to describe passions, intrigues, and morals, very apropos 
perhaps in the memoirs of a Margrave of Bareith, a 
Baron Trenck, or a Princess of Culmbach, but meaning- 
less and absurd with such characters as Rhadamistus, 
Berenice, or Arsinoe. When I was a convalescent at the 
Castle of the Giants, Count Albert often read to me to put 
ffie to sleep, but so far from sleeping, I listened most at- 
tentively. He read the tragedies of Sophocles, Eschylus, 
or Euripides, translating them into Spanish without hesita- 
tion or obscurity, although it was a Greek text which was 
before him. He was so conversant with all the different 
languages, both ancient and modern, that you would have 
said he read from an excellent translation. He piqued 
himself on rendering the shades of meaning exactly, that 
I might become acquainted with the genius of the Greeks. 
Heavens ! what grandeur! what images I what sobriety, 
and yet what poetry of thought ! what energetic, as well 
as pure and lofty characters ! what striking situations, 
what deep sorrows, what terrible and harrowing pictures, 
he displayed before my wrapt and wondering eyes! Still 
weak and nervous from my severe illness, I imagined 
while listening to him that I was by turns Antigone, Cly- 
temnestra, Medea, and Alectra — not on the stage by the 
light of foot-lamps, but in frightful solitudes, on the 
threshold of yawning caverns, amid the columns of an- 
cient temples, or beside dreary watch-fires where they 
wept the dead and conspired against the living. I heard 
the wailing of the Trojan women, the cries of the captives 
of Dardania! The Eumenides danced around me, but to 
what wild and fantastic music, and infernal cries! Even 
yet I cannot think of it without a thrill of mingled pain 
and pleasure which makes me shudder. Never in the 
theater or in the waking realities of life, shall I experience 
the same emotions, the same power as then sounded like 
the mutterings of the distant thunderstorm through my 
heart and brain. It was then that I first felt myself a 
tragedian, then first that I conceived types of excellence of 
which no artist had furnished me Avith a model. It was 
then that I comprehended the tragic drama, the poetry of 
the theater, and as Albert read I composed a strain of 
music which seemed to express and utter all that I 
heard. Sometimes I assumed the attitude and expression 
of the heroines of his drama, and he would then pause, 


684 


CONSUELO. 


terrified, thinking he saw Andromache or Ariadne before 
him. Oh! I learned more from those readings in a month, 
than I should all my life repeating the dramas of Metas- 
tasio; and if there were not more sense and feeling in tlie 
music than in the words, I should break down under the 
disgust which I feel, in making the Archduchess Zenobia 
converse with the Landgrave Egle, and in hearing tlTe 
Field-marshal Khadamistus dispute with Zopyrus the Cor- 
net of Pandors. Oh! it is false, Beppo; false as the light 
periwig of Calfariello Tiridates, as the Pompadour des- 
habille of Madame Holzbaiier the shepherdess of Armenia, 
as the pink calves of Prince Demetrius, or as yonder 
scenic decorations, which from this distance bear about as 
strong a resemblance to Asia as the Abbe Metastasio does 
to old Homer!’’ 

‘‘What you have just said,” replied Haydn, “enables 
me to understand why 1 feel so much more hope and in- 
spiration when I think of composing oratorios than in 
writing operas for the theater. In the former, where scenic 
artifice does not contradict the truth of the sentiment, and 
where, in an atmosphere all music, soul speaks to soul by 
the ear and not by the eye, the composer methinks is able 
to develop all his inspiration, and to carry the imagina- 
tions of his auditors into the loftiest regions of thought.” 

Thus conversing, Joseph and Consuelo, while waiting 
for the rehearsal, walked side by side along an enormous 
sheet of canvas, which was that evening to be the River 
Araxes, but which by the indistinct daylight of the theater, 
presented only the appearance of an enormous stripe of 
indigo running between huge stains of ochre, intended to 
represent the mountains of Caucasus. These scenes, as 
every one knows, are placed one behind the other so as to be 
rolled up On cylinders whenever the locality of the drama 
changes. During the day the actors walk up and down in 
the space between them, repeating their parts, or convers- 
ing on their private affairs, and sometimes spying out the 
little confidential communications or deep-laid machina- 
tions of their fellow-actors, who are perhaps separated 
from them by an arm of the sea or some public building; 
while the scene-shifters, sitting or crouching in the dust 
under the dripping oil, nod lazily on their posts or ex- 
change pinches of snuff with each other. 

Happily, Metastasio was not on the opposite banks of 


C0N8UEL0. 


685 


the Araxes, while the unsuspecting Consuelo thus vented 
her artistic indignation to Haydn. The rehearsal com- 
menced. It was the second of Zenohia, and all went on 
so well that the musicians, according to custom, applauded 
by tapping the violins with the end of their bows. Pre- 
dieri^s music was charming, and Porpora directed it with 
more enthusiasm than he was able to command for that of 
Hasse. The part of Tiradates was one of Oatfariello’s 
triumphs, and would have been well conceived if he had 
not been equipped as a Parthian warrior while the com- 
poser made him warble like Celadon, or chatter like Oly- 
tander. Consuelo, although finding her part poor and 
mean when placed in the mouth of a heroine of antiquity, 
was at least pleased with the agreeable feminine cast of 
the character. It even seemed to suggest a sort of simil- 
arity to her own situation between Albert and Anzoleto; 
and forgetting the localities, and thinking only of the 
human sentiments expressed, she felt raised to a pitch of 
sublimity in this air, wirose force and meaning had so often 
been present to her heart: 

“ Voi leggete in ogni core ; 

Voi sapete, 0! giusti Dei, 

Se non puri, voti miei, 

Se innocente e la pieta.” 

She possessed at this instant the consciousness of true 
emotion and well-deserved triumph. She did not need 
Cafiariello’s look (uninfluenced that day by Tesi^s presence), 
to confirm what she already felt ; namely, her capacity to 
produce an irresistible effect on any audience, and under 
all circumstances, by so exquisite a union of melody and 
execution. She immediately became reconciled to her 
part, to the opera, to her associates, to herself — in a word 
to the theater, and notwithstanding all the sarcasms’which 
she had so recently lavished on her calling, she could not 
help experiencing one of those deep-seated, hidden, and 
powerful emotions which it is impossible for any one but 
an artist to comprehend, and which compensate in an in- 
stant for whole years of toil, suffering, and disappointment. 


m 


(JONStfELO, 


CHAPTER XCVII. 

Half as pupil, half as attendant on Porpora, Haydn, 
who was most anxious to hear the music, and study the 
arrangement of operas in all their parts, obtained permis- 
sion to glide behind the scenes when Consuelo sang. For 
a couple of days past he remarked that Porpora, at first 
unwilling to admit him to the theater, had good-humoredly 
invited him to be present, even before he requested it. 
The reason. was, that events had contributed to change the 
intentions of the maestro, Maria Theresa, while chatter- 
ing on the subject of music with the Venetian ambassador, 
had returned as usual to her matrimomania (as Consuelo 
termed it), and had expressed to him her wish that this 
great cantatrice should fix herself permanently at Vienna 
by marrying the maestro’s young pupil. She had made 
inquiries about Haydn from the ambassador himself, and 
the latter having assured her that he evinced very great 
genius, and moreover that he was a good Catholic, her 
majesty had commissioned him to arrange the marriage, 
promising at the same time to provide handsomely for the 
3^oung couple. Corner was delighted with the idea, for he 
had a strong affection for Joseph, and gave him a small 
allowance monthly to enable him to pursue his studies. 
He mentioned the subject in warm terms to Porpora, and 
the latter fearing that Consuelo would leave the stage in 
order to marry some nobleman, suffered himself after 
much opposition (for he would have much preferred his 
pupil’s remaining unmarried), to be persuaded. To strike 
the blow more securely, the ambassador determined to 
show him Haydn’s compositions, and to inform him that 
the serenade with which* he had been so pleased was his 
own production. Rorpora confessed that they displayed 
strong evidences of talent, and that with his instructions 
and assistance he might come to write for the voice ; and 
in short that the marriage of a cantatrice to a composer 
might be very suitable and advantageous to both parties. 
The youth of the young couple, and their slender re- 
sources, would impose on them the necessity of unremit- 
ting labor, and Consuelo would be thus chained to the 
theater. The maestro surrendered. He had received no 
reply from Riesenburg any more than Consuelo, and this 


COmUELO. . 


mi 

Bilenc© made him dread some opposition to his views, or 
some frantic project on the part of the young count, 

If I could marry, or at least engage Consuelo to 
another, thought he, I should have nothing more to 
apprehend from that quarter/^ 

^ The difficulty was to bring Consuelo to this determiua- 
tion. To exhort her to it would only have tended to 
arouse the idea of resistance. With his Neapolitan jicute- 
ness, he said to himself, that the force of circumstances 
must bring about a change in the sentiments of tlie young 
girl. She had already a friendship for Beppo, and Beppo, 
although he had conquered love in his heart, yet displayed 
so much zeal, admiration, and devotion toward her, tliat 
Porpora might very well imagine that he was violently in 
love. He thought that by not putting any restraint on 
his intercourse with her, he would furnish him with oppor- 
tunities for flaking himself heard, and that by informing 
him in proper time and place of the empress’ designs and 
his own, he would impart to him the courage of eloquence 
and the force of persuasion necessary to his success, lie 
consequently ceased to ill-treat and look down upon him, 
and gave a free course to their affections, flattering him- 
self that the less he interfered the better affairs would 
proceed. 

Porpora, in thus never doubting of success, committed 
a great error. He laid Consuelo open to misrepresenta- 
tion and slander, for no sooner was Joseph seen twice with 
her behind the scenes than the whole dramatic staff pro- 
claimed her attachment to this young man, and poor Con- 
suelo, innocent and confiding like all upright minds, never 
dreamed of the danger she was in, nor took any means to 
avoid it. So from the day on which the last rehearsal of 
Zenobia took place, all eyes were on the watch, all tongues 
in motion. In every corner, behind every decoration, the 
actors, the choristers, and the underlings of all kinds, 
passed their good-natured or severe, their kind or malig- 
nant remarks, on the scandal of this budding intrigue, or 
on the happiness of the betrothed pair, 

Consuelo, wholly absorbed in her part and in her feel- 
ings as an artist, saw or heard nothing of all this and sus- 
pected no danger. As for the thoughful Joseph, he was so 
completely taken up with the opera in course of perform- 
ance, or that which he purposed composing himself, 


G88 


.C0N8VEL0. 


that he heard indeed some passing equivocal remarks, but 
did not in the least understand them, so far was he from 
flattering himself with vain hopes. At such times he 
would raise his head and look around as if to seek who 
they were leveled at, but not succeeding in his search, and 
completely indifferent to every thing of the kind, he re- 
lapsed into his meditations. 

Between each act of the opera there was frequently per- 
formed a little buffa piece, and this day it happened to be 
the Impressario delle Canarie, a gay and comic production 
of Metastasio’s. Gorilla, who filled the part of an imperi- 
ous, exacting, fantastic prima donna was nature itself, and 
her success in this little trifle consoled her in some degree 
for the loss of her grand part of Zenobia. While they were 
performing the last part of the interlude, and before the 
third act of the opera commenced, Consuelo, who felt 
somewhat oppressed by the emotion excited by her part, 
retreated behind the curtain, between the horrible valley 
bristling with mountains and precipices, which formed 
the first decoration, and the good river Araxes bordered 
hy pleasayit mountains, which was to appear in the third 
scene to recreate the eyes of the feeling spectator. She 
was walking rapidly up and down in the passage, when 
Joseph brought her her fan, which she had left in the 
prompter’s box and which she used with much satisfaction. 
The promptings of his heart, and Porpora’s voluntary in- 
attention, had induced Joseph mechanically to rejoin his 
friend, and a feeling of confidence and sympathy always 
inclined Consuelo to receive him joyously. But from this 
mutual regard, at which the angels of heaven need not have 
blushed, fatal consequences vvere destined to ensue. Our 
lady readers, as we are well aware, always anxious to know 
.the event, would ask no better than to be acquainted with 
the result at once, but we must entreat them to have a 
little patience. 

Well! my dear friend,” said Joseph, smiling as he ex- 
tended his hand, “you are no longer it would seem so dis- 
satisfied with the dramas of our illustrious abbe; and you 
have found in the music of your prayer, a window by 
which the genius that possesses you can wing its upward 
flight.” 

“ I have sung well, then?” 

“Do you not perceive that my eyes are red?” 


CONSUKLO, 


689 


‘^Ah! yes, you have wept. So much the better; I am 
happy to have made you weep!^' 

As if it were for the first time! But you are rapidly 
becoming the artist that Porpora wishes you to be, my 
good Consuelo. The fire of success is lighted up within 
you. When you sung in the leafy bovvers of the Boehrner 
Wald you saw me weep heartily, and you wept yourself, 
melted by the beauty of your song. Now it is otherwise; 
you smile with pleasure and thrill witli pride on beholding 
the tears you cause others to shed. Courage, my Con- 
suelo, you are now a prima donna in the fullest sense of 
the term!’' 

Say not so, my friend; I shall never be like yonder 
one,” and she nodded toward Corilla, who was singing on 
the stage on the other side of the curtain. 

‘^Do not take what I have said amiss,” replied Joseph; 

I merely meant to say that your inspiration has proved 
victorious. In vain does your calm reason, your austere 
philosophy, and the memory of Riesenburg, strive against 
the influences of the Python. His divine breath fills your 
bosom even to overflowing. Confess that your whole frame 
thrills with delight. I feel your arm tremble against mine; 
your countenance glows with animation; never have I seen 
you so lovely and majestic. No, you were not more agi- 
tated, not more inspired, when Count Albert read to you 
the tragedies of Greece!” 

Ah! how you pain me by that word,” exclaimed Con- 
suelo, turning pale, and withdrawing her arm from 
Joseph’s. “ Why do you utter that name here? it is a 
name too sacred to be mentioned in this temple of folly. 
It is a name which, like a peal of thunder, thrusts back 
into dim night the empty phantoms of these golden 
dreams.” 

Well, then, Consuelo, since I am forced to tell you so,” 
resumed Haydu, after a moment’s silence, ^Miever will you 
be able to decide on marrying that man.” 

^'Hush! hush! Joseph; I have promised.” 

Well, then, keep your promise; but you will never be 
happy with him. Quit the theater? Renounce your career 
as an artist? It is now too late. You have tasted a pleas- 
ure the remembrance of which would torment your whole 
after life.” 


690 


G0N8UEL0. 


‘‘I know not; I say them in despite of myself. Your 
fever has passed into my veins, and I feel as if when I 
went home, I should write {^mething sublime. It may 
probably be something very trivial after all; but no matter, 
for the moment I feel as if inspired.” 

‘‘ How gay and tranquil you are! While I, in place of 
the pride and joy of which you speak, feel nothing but a 
sentiment of grief, and could weep and smile in the same 
breath.” 

I feel well assured that you suffer, for you ought to 
suffer; at the moment when you feel your power developed 
within you to its full extent, a pang seizes and overcomes 
you.” 

Yes, it is true; what means it ?” 

It means that you are an artist, and that you do vio- 
lence both to nature and conscience in renouncing your 
profession.” 

Yesterday it seemed as if this was not the case; to-day 
it seems as if it were. My nerves are shaken; the agita- 
tion I feel is frightful; on no other grounds can I account 
for my indecision. Hitherto I denied the influence of 
these feelings and their power. I always entered on the 
stage with calmness and a modest determination to fulfil 
my part conscientiously. But I am no longer my former 
self, and should I make my appearance on the stage at 
this moment, I feel as if I should commit the wildest ex- 
travagances; all prudence, all self-command would leave 
me. To-morrow I hope it will not be so, for this emotion 
borders on madness.” 

‘^My poor friend! 1 fear, or rather I hope, it will ever 
be so. Without true and deep emotion, where would be 
your power? I have often endeavored to impress upon the 
musicians and actors I have met, that without this agita- 
tion, this delirium, they could do nothing, and that, in 
place of calming down with years and experience, they 
would become more impressionable at each fresh attempt.” 

^^It is a great mystery,” said Consuelo, sighing. 

Neither vanity, nor jealousy, nor the paltry wish of 
triumphing, could have exerted such overwhelming power 
over me. No! I assure you that in singing this prayer of 
Zenobia’s and this duet with Tiradates, in which I am 
borne away as in a whirlwind by Caffariello’s vigor and 
passion, I thought neither of the public nor of my rivals, 


CONSUELO, 


GDI 


nor of myself. I was Zenobia, and believed in the gods of 
Olympus with truly Christian fervor, and I burned with 
love for the worthy Catfariello, whom, the performance 
once over, 1 could not look at without a smile. 

All this is strange, and I begin to think that, dramatic 
art being a perpetual falsehood. Heaven inflicts upon us 
the punishment of making us believe as real the illusions 
we practice on the spectator. No! it is not permitted to 
man to turn the passions and emotions of actual life into a 
jest! We must keep our souls holy and pure for true affec- 
tions and useful deeds; and when we pervert God^s pur- 
poses and aims, he chastises us for our folly by inflicting 
on us mental blindness.” 

Ay, there lies the mystery, Consuelo! Who can pene- 
trate his designs? Would he impart these instincts to us 
from our very cradle — would he implant in us this craving 
desire for art which we can never suppress — if he entirely 
prescribed their application? Why, even from infancy, 
have I never loved the plays of my companions? Why, 
since I have been my own master, have I labored at music 
with an assiduity which would have killed any other at 
my age? Repose revives me, labor gives me life and 
strength. It was the same with yourself; you have told me 
so a hundred times; and when we related the history of 
our lives, we each thought the other’s story was our own. 
Ah! the hand of God is in every thing, and every power, 
every impulse (even when we fail to understand it), is from 
Him. You are born an artist — it must be so; and whoever 
l^laces a barrier in your way, inflicts death or worse than 
death upon you.” 

‘^Oh! Beppo,”exclaimed Consuelo, agitated and confused, 
‘‘you terrify me; I know not what to do! Alas! if I could 
expire to-morrow when the curtain falls, after having 
tasted for the first and last time the joy and inspiration of 
a true artist, it would save me perhaps from a long career 
of pain and suffering.” 

“Ah!” said Joseph, with forced gaiety, “I would much 
rather that your Count Albert or your humble servant 
should expire first.” 

At this moment Consuelo raised her eyes in a meiancholy 
reverie toward the wing which opened before her. The in- 
tei’ior of a great theater, seen by day, is so different from 
what it appears to us from the front of the stage when bril- 


692 


CONSUELO. 


liantly lighted, that it is impossible to form an idea of it 
when one has not seen it thus. Nothing can present a more 
gloomy or frightful appearance than the immense expanse, 
lined with tier above tier of boxes and buried in darkness, 
solitude and silence. If a human face were to ap- 
pear in those boxes closed like tombs, it would seem 
like a specter, and would make the boldest actor 
recoil with fear. The dim and fitful light, which is 
admitted from several windows in the roof at the extrem- 
ity of the stage, glances obliquely over scaffoldings, torn 
scenes, and dusty boards. Upon the stage, the eye, de- 
prived of the illusion of perspective, is astonished at that 
narrow and confined space where so many persons and pas- 
sions are to play their part, representing majestic move- 
ments, imposing masses, ungovernable emotions, which 
will seem such to the spectator, and wliich are studied, 
nay measured to a line, in order to avoid embarassment, 
confusion, or even coming in contact with the scenes. 
But if the stage look small and mean, the height above it, 
intended to receive so many decorations and to afford 
space for so much machinery, appears on the other 
hand immense, freed from all those scenes of fes- 
tooned clouds, architectural cornices, or verdant boughs 
which divide it in certain proportions to the eye 
of the spectator. In its real disproportion this elevation 
has in it something lofty and severe ; and if on looking 
upon the stage, you might imagine yourself in a dungeon, 
on casting your eyes upward, you would think yourself in 
a Gothic church, but a ruined or unfinished one, for every 
thing there is dim, unformed, strange and incoherent. 
Shapeless ladders for the use of the mechanist, placed as if 
by chance and thrown without apparent motive against 
other ladders, dimly seen in the confusion of these indis- 
tinct details, piles of oddly shaped boards, scenes upside 
down, whose design presents no meaning to the piind, 
ropes interlaced like hieroglyphics, nameless fragments, 
pulleys and wheels which seem prepared for unknown tor- 
tures — all these recall to us those dreams we have when 
about to awake in which we see strange and unheard of 
things, while we make vain efforts to ascertain wliere we 
are. 

Every thing is vague, shadowy, unsubstantial. Aloft 
you see a man at work, supported as it were by spiders’ 


CONSUELO. 


693 


webs. To your uncertain gaze he might be either a mari- 
ner clinging to the con’dage of a vessel, or an enormous 
rat gnawing the worm-eaten carpentry. You hear sounds 
and words proceeding from you know not where. They 
are uttered some eight feet above your head, and the be- 
wildering echoes which slumber amid the recesses of the 
fantastic dome, convey them to your ear either distinct or 
confused, according as you may happen to change your 
position. A fearful noise shakes the scaffolds, and is re- 
peated in prolonged rattlings! Is the frail structure about 
to crumble, or are those trembling balconies about to fall 
and bury the poor w^orkmen beneath the ruins. No, it is 
a fireman sneezing, or some cat pursuing its prey amid the 
mazes of the aerial labyrinth. Ere you are unaccustomed to 
those sounds and objects, you feel a sensation of terror. 
Y’ou are ignorant of what is going on, and know not what 
unheard-of apparitions may put all your philosophy and 
courage to the proof. You understand nothing of what 
surrounds you, and whatever is not clearly distinguished 
either by the bodily or mental vision — whatever is uncer- 
tain and incomprehensible, always alarms the logic of the 
senses. What seems the most reasonable supposition 
when entering on such a chaos, is that you are about to 
witness the fiendish revels of some wizard alchemist and 
his attendant demons in their magic laboratory. 

Consuelo allowed her eyes to wander carelessly over the 
singular edifice, and the poetry of this disorder struck her 
for the first time. At each end of the alley formed by the 
two back scenes, was a long dark wing, across which 
shadow-like figures flitted from time to time. Suddenly 
one of these figures paused as if awaiting her, and she even 
fancied that it beckoned her to approach. 

Is it Porpora?’^ said she to Joseph. 

No,'’^ replied he, ^‘but it is doubtless some one who 
has been sent to tell you that they ^re about to commence 
the third act.'' 

Consuelo quickened her pace, and hastened in the di- 
rection of the person, whose features she could not distin- 
guish as he had retreated back to the wall. But when she 
was within three paces of him, and on the point of ques- 
tioning him, he glided rapidly through the adjacent wing, 
gained the back of the theater, and disappeared in the 
depths beyond. 


604 


CON&UELO, 


That person seems as if he had been playing the Spy 
upon us/^ said Joseph. 

'‘And as if he was now evading onr pursuit/^ added Con- 
suelo, struck with the man’s anxiety to escape; " I can- 
not tell why, but I feel afraid of him.” 

She returned to the stage and rehearsed the last act, at 
the close of which she again experienced the enthusiastic 
impulse which had before inspired her. When she was about 
to put on her mantle before leaving the theater, and was 
looking around for it, she was dazzled by a sudden glare. 
They had opened a window in the roof, and the rays of the 
setting sun streamed through and fell obliquely before her. 
The contrast of the sudden light with the previous gloom 
caused her to take a random step or two, when all at once 
she found herself opposite the person in the dark cloak by 
whom she had been startled behind the scenes. She saw 
his figure indistinctly, and yet she thought she recognized 
him, but he had already disappeared, and she looked 
around for him in vain. 

"AVhat is the matter with you?” said Joseph, holding 
out her mantle; " have you hurt yourself against some of 
the decorations?” 

" No,” said she; "but I have seen Count Albert.” 

" Count Albert here! Are you sure — is it possible?” 

" It is possible — it is certain,” said Consuelo, drawing 
him along with her, and commencing to search behind the 
scenes in every direction. Joseph assisted her in her scru- 
tiny, although convinced that she was mistaken, while 
Porpora summoned her impatiently to accompany him 
home. Consuelo could see no one who bore the least re- 
semblance to Albert ; and when, obliged to leave the 
theater with her master, she passed in review all those who 
had been on the stage along with her, she observed several 
cloaks similar to that which had already attracted her 
attention. 

" No matter,” she whispered to Joseph, who watched 
her anxious gaze, "I have seen him — he was there!” 

"It must have been a deception of your senses,” replied 
Joseph; "had it been Count Albert would he not have 
spoken to you, and yet you say he fled at your approach?” 

" I do not say that it was really he, but I saw his 
features and I now think with you that it must have been 
a vision. Some misfortune must have happened to him! 


COmUBLO. 


695 


I long to set out at once and hasten to Bohemia. I am 
sure that he is danger — that he calls me — that he expects 
me!” 

see, among other bad offices, that he has infected you 
with his madness, my poor Consuelo; the excitement you 
felt in singing has disposed you to entertain these wild 
ideas. Be yourself again, I beseech you, and be assured 
that if Count Albert be in Vienna you will see him flying 
to you before the day be over.” 

This hope revived Consuelo^s courage. She hastened 
forward with Beppo, leaving the old maestro, who on this 
occasion was not displeased at being forgotten, far behind. 
But Consuelo thought neither of Joseph nor Porpora. 
She hurried onward, arrived all breathless at the house, 
rushed up to her apartment, but found no one there. Jos- 
eph made inquiries from the domestics, but no one had 
called in their absence. Consuelo waited all day, but in 
vain. The whole evening, and even till far on in the 
night, she gazed anxiously from the window at every one 
who passed in the street. Every moment she was certain 
that the approaching comer was about to stop, but he 
always passed on, at one time with the light step of some 
youthful gallant humming a popular air, at another with 
the faltering gait and dry sharp cough of an aged invalid. 

Consuelo, now convinced that she must have been dream- 
ing, retired to rest, and next day when the impression had 
worn off, she admitted to Joseph that she had not clearly dis- 
tinguished any of the features of the unknown. A sort of 
vague resemblance in his general appearance to Albert — a 
resemblance strengthened by his dress, his pale complexion, 
and his jet-black beard, or what seemed such by the fantastic 
light of the theater — had sufficed to convert a sudden im- 
pression into certainty. 

If a man such as you have often described to me,” said 
Joseph, had been behind the scenes, his neglected air, 
long beard, and dark hair would surely have attracted com- 
ment. Kow I have asked everyone belonging to the theater, 
even to the porters, who permit no one whom they do not 
know to enter without a proper authority, and they all 
agree in saying that they saw no stranger in the theater 
that day.” 

My senses must have played me false, then. I was 
agitated, I scarcely knew what I did ; I was thinking of 


696 


CONSUELO, 


Albert, his image was in my soul, some one passed me, and 
I took him for the person who occupied my thoughts. My 
mind must surely be much weakened. The cry which I 
uttered issued from my very heart; something strange and 
wonderful took place within me.^^ 

Think no more of such chi meras,^^ said Joseph, study 
your part, and let your thoughts dwell only on this even- 
ing.” 


CHAPTER XCVIII. 

In the course of the day Consuelo saw a strange group 
defile past her window and proceed toward the public 
square. They were robust, weatherbeaten men, with long 
mustachios, naked legs, and leather sandals secured like 
the buskins of the ancients with thongs ; they wore a sort 
of pointed caps, had their belts garnished with numerous 
pistols, and each held in his hand a long Albanian musket, 
while over their uncovered neck and arms was thrown a 
red cloak, which completed their costume. 

Is this a masquerade?” exclaimed Consuelo to the canon 
who had called to pay her a visit. ‘‘We are not now in 
the carnival that I know of.” 

“ Look well those men,” replied the canon; “fit will be 
long ere we see the like again, if it please God to protect 
the reign of Maria Theresa. See how the people look at 
them, with a curiosity mingled with terror and disgust. 
Vienna saw them hasten to her assistance in her hour of 
anguish, and she received them more joyfully then than she 
does to-day, ashamed and terror-stricken as she is to have 
been indebted to them for her safety.” 

“ Are these the Slavonian bandits of whom I heard so - 
much in Bohemia, and who committed so many outrages 
there?” said Consuelo. 

“ They are no other,” replied the canon; “they are the 
residue of those hordes of Croatian serfs and robbers whom 
the celebrated Baron Francis Trenck, cousin to your 
friend Baron Frederick Trenck, manumitted with incred- 
ible ability and daring, in order to enter them as regular 
troops in the service of the empress. Behold him! this re- J 
doubtable hero — this Trenck with the burned throat, as the ^ 


CONSUELO. 


697 


soldiers call him — this famous partisan chief — the most 
cunning, intrepid, and necessary during the sad and bloody 
years gone by; the greatest romancer, the greatest robber 
certainly of his age, but at the samp time one of the 
bravest, most vigorous, most active, and incredibly daring 
men of modern times. Behold him, Trenck, the Pandour, 
with his famished w.olves, a savage and bloody herd, of 
wliich he is the savage shepherd!” 

Baron Francis Trenck was even taller than his cousin of 
Prussia, and was nearly six feet six inches in height. His 
scarlet mantle, which was secured round his neck by a ruby 
clasp, was open at the breast, and displayed to view a 
whole museum of Turkish weapons, studded with precious 
stones, disposed around his person. Pistols, curved scimi- 
tars, and cutlasses — nothing was wanting to give him tlie 
appearance of the most determined and expeditious of 
man-slayers. His cap was adorned, instead of a plume of 
feathers, with a miniature scythe, with four blades falling 
in front. His face was frightful. Having descended into 
a cellar, during the pillage of a Bohemian town, in search 
of a quantity of concealed treasure, he incautiously ap- 
proached the candle too. near some barrels he thought con- 
tained the promised gold, but instead of gold the barrels 
contained powder, and the consequence of his mistake was 
an explosion which destroyed a portion of the vault and 
buried him in the ruins. When he was at last dug out he 
was almost expiring. His body was severely scorched, and 
his face seamed with deep and indelible wounds. No 
person,” say the annals of the time, could look on him 
without shuddering.” 

This is then that monster, that enemy of the human 
race!” exclaimed the horror-stricken Consuelo, turning 
away her eyes. Bohemia will long remember his passage; 
cities burned and plundered — children and old men cut to 
pieces — women outraged — the country pillaged — the har- 
vest rooted up — flocks destroyed, when they could not be 
carried away — everywhere ruin, murder, desolation and 
flames! Alas! unhappy Bohemia, the theater of so many 
sufferings, the scene of such dreadful tragedies!” 

Yes, unfortunate Bohemia!” replied the canon. 

Ever the victim of man^s fury — ever the arena of his 
strife! Francis Trenck renewed in that unhappy king- 
dom all the frightful excesses of John Ziska. Like him 


698 


CONSUELO, 


unconquerecl, he never gave quarter, and the terror of his 
name was so great that his outposts have taken cities even 
when far in advance, and while the main body were strug- 
gling with other enemies. It might be said of him, as it 
was of Attila, that the grass never grew where his horse 
had left its footmarks. The conquered will curse him to 
the fourth generation. 

Baron Francis Trenck gradually disappeared in the dis- 
tance, but Consuelo and the canon could long distinguish 
his richly caparisoned horses led by gigantic Croatian 
hussars. 

What you see,” said the canon, ^^is but an insignifi- 
cant sample of his riches. Mules and chariots, laden with 
arms, pictures, precious stones, and ingots of gold and 
silver, cover the roads which lead to his Slavonian estates. 
It is there that he buries treasures which might serve to 
ransom kings. He is served on gold plate which he took 
from the King of Prussia at Soraw, where the King of 
Prussia himself narrowly escaped being taken prisoner by 
him. Some say he only got off by fifteen n^inutes ; others 
say that he was actually in Trenck’s bands, and that he 
purchased his liberty dearly. But, patience! the Pandour, 
perhaps, will not long enjoy such glory and riches. It is 
said that he is threatened with a criminal charge, and 
that the most frightful accusations are impending over 
him ; that the empress is terribly afraid of him, and that 
such of his Croatians as have not, according to their usual 
practice, taken French leave, are about to be incorporated 
with the regular troops, and disciplined in the Prussian 
fashion. As for himself, I augur badly of the compli- 
ments and recompenses that await him at court.” 

But general report attributes to them the honor of 
having saved the Austrian throne.” 

And doubtless they have. From the frontiers of 
Turkey to those of France, they have spread terror every- 
where around, and have taken places the most strongly 
fortified and won battles at every odds. Always in the 
van of the army, and ever first at the escalade or in the 
breach, they have extorted admiration from our greatest 
generals. The French fied before them in every direction, 
and the great Frederick himself, it is said, grew pale like 
any other mortal when he heard their war-cry. Neither 
j’apid torrents, nor pathless forests, nor treacherous 


C0N8UEL0. 


699 


morasses, nor steep and shelving rocks, nor showering 
balls, nor crackling flames, arrested their progress by night 
or day, in winter or in summer. Yes, most certainly they 
have saved Maria Theresa’s throne more effectually than 
all the antiquated military tactics of our generals, or all 
the schemes of our most accomplished diplomatists.” 

In that case, their crimes will be unpunished, their 
thefts glorified.” 

^‘Perhaps, on the contrary, they will be too severely 
punished.” 

But a monarch would not thus requite men who had 
rendered such services?” 

Pardon me,” exclaimed the canon, with caustic irony ; 

when the monarch has no more need of them ” 

But were they not suffered to commit these excesses, 
which they practiced in the territories of the empire, or on 
those of the allies?” 

Doubtless, every thing was permitted to them, because 
they were indispensable.” 

‘‘And now?” 

“ And now, as they are so no longer, they are reproached 
with the very misdeeds which were formerly winked at.” 

“And the high-minded Maria Theresa?” 

“Oh! they have profaned churches!” 

“ I understand. Trenck is lost, reverend canon.” 

“Hush! Speak low,” replied he. 

“ Have you seen the Pandours?” e^^claimed Joseph, 
running in, quite out of breath. 

“ With very little satisfaction,” replied Consuelo. 

“And did you not recollect them?” 

“I see them now for the first time.” 

“ No, it is not the first time. We met those men in 
the Boehmer Wald.” 

“ Thank God, not that I recollect.” 

“ Do you not remember a chalet where we passed the 
night, and where our slumbers were disturbed by some 
strange, fierce-looking men demanding admittance.” 

Consuelo did in fact remember the circumstance, but as 
she was very drowsy, she had not paid much attention to 
the men, whom both she. and Joseph had taken for 
contrabandists. 

“Well,” said he, “ these pretended contrabandists, who 
did not observe our presence, and who left the chalet be- 


700 


CONSUELO, 


fore daylight, carrying bags and heavy packages, were no 
other than Pandours. It was the arms, the faces, the 
mustaches, and the cloaks, which I have just seen pass, 
and Providence spared us, without our knowing it, from 
the worst encounter we could possibly have met with.” 

Without any doubt,” observed the canon, to whom 
Joseph had often related all the details of their journey, 
‘Hhese worthy fellows had disbanded themselves of their 
own free will, as they usually do when their pockets are 
lined, and they were regaining their homes by a long cir- 
cuit, rather than carry their booty through the heart of 
the empire where they might have been subjected to a 
reckoning. But be assured they would not reach home 
without molestation. They rob and assassinate each other 
by the way, and it is only the strongest who regain their 
forests and their caverns, loaded with the booty of their 
slaughtered companions.” 

The hour for the performance, which was now approach- 
ing, distracted Consuelo^s attention from Trenck and his 
cruel Pandours, and she hastened to the theater. Here 
she had no dressing-room. Madame Tesi had hitherto 
lent her hers; but on this occasion, enraged at her success 
and now her sworn enemy, she had carried off the key, and 
the prima donna of the evening was totally at a loss how 
to act. These pretty treacheries are usual at theaters; 
they serve to annoy and harass a rival whose power is 
feared. She loses time in looking for an apartment; she 
fears she will not succeed in finding one. The hour ap- 
proaches; her companions say to her in passing: ^MVhat ! 
not dressed yet? They are going to begin!” At last, after 
much running to and fro, and many angry threats, she 
obtains an apartment where nothing she requires is at 
hand. The dress-makers have been bribed, and the cos- 
tume is not ready, or does not fit. The tire-women are at 
the service of anyone but the unfortunate victim. The 
bell rings, and the call-boy {hutta /won) bawls along the 
corridors: Signore e signori, si va cominciar terrible 

words which the debutante hears with affright, for she 
is not ready. In her haste she tears her sleeves, breaks her 
laces, puts on her mantle outside in, while her diadem tot- 
ters and threatens to fall with the first step she makes 
upon the stage. Nervous, palpitating, indignant, her 
eyes full of tears, she must appear with a celestial smile 


CONSUELO, 


701 


upon her lips; her voice must be pure and fresh, when 
lier throat is choking and her bosom ready to burst. Oh! 
all those crowns of flowers which rain upon the stage at 
the moment of her triumph are mingled with countless 
thorns ! 

Happily for Consuelo, she met Gorilla, wlio said, taking 
her hand: 

Come to my room. Tesi flattered herself she could 
play you the same trick she practiced on me when I made 
my first appearance. But I will come to your assistance, 
were it only to enrage her! it is a Roland for her Oliver! 
At the rate you are getting on in public estimation, Por- 
porina, I dread to see you outstrip me wherever I am so 
unfortunate as to be brought into contact with you. 
Then you will no doubt forget my conduct toward you 
here, and remember only the injury I have done you.’^ 

The injury you have done me. Gorilla?^’ said Con- 
suelo, entering her rivaPs dressing-room and commencing 
lier toilet behind a screen, while the German dressing- 
maids divided their attention between the two ladies, who 
could converse together in Venetian without being under- 
stood. Really, I do not know what injury you have done 
me; I cannot recollect any.^^ 

The proof that you bear a grudge against me is, that 
you speak to me as if you were a duchess, and look down 
upon me with contempt. 

Indeed,” replied Consuelo, in a gentle voice, and en- 
deavoring to overcome her repugnance to speak familiarly 
to a woman with whom she had so little in common. ‘‘I 
really cannot remember to what you allude.” 

Is that true?” rejoined the other. Have you so com- 
pletely forgotten poor Zoto?” 

I was at liberty to forget him, and I did so,” replied 
Consuelo, as she fastened her buskin with that courage and 
vivacity which a trying situation sometimes confers, and 
she warbled a brilliant roulade, to keep herself in voice. 

Gorilla replied by a similar one for the same purpose; 
then interrupting herself to address her soubrette: ^AYhat 
the' plague! mademoiselle,” said she; "‘you squeeze too 
tight. Do you take me for a Nurernburg doll? These 
Germans,” continued she, in Venetian, do not know 
what shoulders are. They would make us as square as their 
own dowagers, if we would suffer them. Porporina, do 


702 


C0N8UEL0. 


not let them muffle you up to the ears as they did the last 
time; it was ridiculous.” 

‘"As to that, my dear, it is the imperial order. These 
ladies are aware of it, and I do not care about such a 
trifle.” 

A trifle! Our shoulders a trifle ” 

“ I do not say that with reference to you, whose shape 
is faultless; but as for myself ” 

“Hypocrite!” said Gorilla, sighing, “your are ten years 
younger than I am, and my shoulders will soon have noth- 
ing to recommend them but their former reputation.” 

“It is you who are the hypocrite,” replied Consuelo, ex- 
cessively wearied and annoyed with this species of conversa- 
tion, and to put a stop to it she began, while arranging 
her hair, to repeat scales and exercises for the voice. 

“Be silent!” exclaimed Gorilla, suddenly, who listened 
in spite of herself; “ you plunge a thousand daggers in my 
heart. Ah! I would gladly give you up all my admirers; I 
would be sure to find others; but your voice and manner, 
those I cannot compete with. Be silent, I say; I am half 
inclined to strangle you.” 

Gonsuelo, who saw that Gorilla was but half in jest, and 
that this mocking flattery concealed real suffering, took 
it as it was intended. But after an instant^s pause the 
latter resumed: 

‘‘How do you execute that ornament?” 

“ Would you like to have it? I will give it up to you,” 
replied Gonsuelo, with admirable good nature. “ Gome, 
I will teach it to you; put it into your part this evening, 
and I shall find another.” 

“Yes, one still better, and I shall gain nothing by it.” 

“ Very well, I shall not sing it at all. Porpora does not 
care about such things, and it will be one reproach less. 
Hold! here it is.” And she drew from her pocket a line 
of music written on a scrap of folded paper, and handed it 
over the screen to Gorilla. The latter hastened to study 
it, and with Gonsuelo^s assistance succeeded in learning it, 
the toilet going on as before. 

Before Gonsuelo had put on her robe. Gorilla thrust 
aside the screen, and impatiently advanced to embrace her 
in gratitude for her gift. It was not gratitude alone how- 
ever which prompted this demonstration; mingled with it 
was a treacherous wish to see if she could not detect some 


CONSUELO. 


703 


fault in her rivals figure. But Oonsuelo's waist was 
slender as a reed, and her chaste and noble outline needed 
no assistance from art. She guessed Corilla^s intention, 
and smiled: ^‘You may examine my person, and search 
my heart,” thought she, and find out nothing false in 
either of them.” 

Zingarella,” exclaimed Gorilla, resuming, in spite of 
herself, her hostile air and sharp voice; '‘do you love this 
Anzoletoany longer?” 

"No longer,” replied Consuelo smiling. 

"And he — did he not love you well?” 

" He did not,” continued Consuelo, with the same firm- 
ness and sincerity. 

"Ah! then it was just as he told me,” cried Gorilla, fixing 
her clear, blue eyes on her rivaBs countenance, as if she 
hoped to detect there some hidden pang. 

Consuelo was ignorant of finesse, but she had that open- 
ness and candor, which are far more powerful weapons 
when used to combat with trickery and cunning. She 
felt the blow, and calmly resisted it. Slie no longer loved 
Anzoleto, and felt no pang of wounded self-love. She 
therefore yielded this triumph to Gorilla’s vanity. 

"He told you the truth,” she replied; "he loves me 
not.” 

" But did you never love him?” replied the other, more 
astonished than pleased at this confession. Consuelo felt 
that here there could be no concealment. She determined 
that Gorilla should be satisfied. 

" Yes,” said she, " I loved him dearly.” 

"And are you not ashamed to own it? Have you no 
pride, my poor girl?” 

"Yes, enough to cure myself.” 

"That is to say you were philosopher enough to console 
yourself by encouraging aiiotlier admirer. Tell me now, 
Porporina, who it was. It could not be that little Haydn, 
who is both friendless and penniless.” 

" That would be no reason for my not loving him. But 
I have consoled myself with no one in the manner you are 
pleased to imagine.” 

"Ah! I know you have pretensions. But say nothing 
about them here, my dear, if you would not be ridiculous.” 

"Therefore I shall not mention them unless I am 
questioned, and I do not allow every one to take that 


704 


CONSUELO. 


liberty; if I have suffered you to do so, Gorilla, do not, 
unless you be an enemy, abuse the privilege/^ 

You are a mask!^^ exclaimed Gorilla. ‘‘ You have both 
wit and talent, although you pretend to be so frank. Ah ! 
you are clever, zingarella. You will make the men believe 
what you please.” 

''I shall make them believe nothing, nor shall I suffer 
tliem to interfere in my affairs so far as to question me.” 

It is the better way. They always abuse our confidence, 
and only extort it to load us with reproach. Ah! 1 admire 
you, zingarella. You so young, to triumph over love — the 
passion, of all others, the most fatal to our repose, our 
beauty, and our fortune. It fills me with respect! I know 
it by dear-bought experience; if I could have been cold, I 
should not have suffered so much. But look you, I am a 
poor creature; I was born unhappy. Ever, in the midst of 
my highest success, I have been guilty of some folly that 
spoiled every thing; I have fallen in love with some poor 
devil, and then adieu fortune ! I might have married 
Zustiniani once. He adorned me, but I could not bear 
him. This miserable Anzoleto pleased me, and for him I 
sacrificed every thing. Gome, you will give me your 
advice — will you not? You will be my friend? You will 
preserve me from the weaknesses, both of my heart and 
head. And to make a beginning, I must confess that 
latterly I have a feeling of preference for a man on whom 
fortune lowers, and who may soon prove more dangerous 
than useful at court. One who has millions, but who may 
be ruined, in a twinkling. Yes, I must throw him off 
before he drags me down the precipice. Ah! speak of the 
devil — here he is! I hear him, and I feel a pang of jealousy 
shoot to my heart. Glose your screen, Porporina, and do 
not stir; I would not have him know you are here.” 

Gonsuelo did as she was told: she had no wish to be seeii 
.by Gorilla^s admirers. A masculine voice echoed along the 
corridor, there was a kiiock, as a matter of form, and then 
the door was opened without the visitor waiting for a 
reply. 

‘‘Dreadful profession!” thought Gonsuelo; “no, the 
intoxication of the stage shall never seduce me; all behind 
it is too impure.” 

And she concealed herself in a corner, horrified at the 
company in which she found herself, indignant and even 


CONSUELO. 


705 


terrified at the manner in which Gorilla had addressed her, 
and, for the first time in her life, brought in contact with 
scenes of which she could previously have formed no idea. 


CHAPTER XOIX. 

While hurriedly completing her toilet, for fear of a 
surprise, she heard the following dialogue in Italian: 

Why do you come here? I told you not to enter my 
apartment. The empress has forbidden us, under the 
severest penalties, to receive the visits of any but our 
fellow-actors, and even then there must be some urgent 
necessity respecting the business of the theater. See to 
what you expose me! I did not think the police of the 
theater was so negligent.” 

There is no police for those who pay well, my angel. 
Only fools meet with resistance or delay in their progress. 
Come, give me a little kinder reception, or, mort du Dialle! 

I will not return in a hurry.” 

You could not give me a greater pleasure. Come, be 
off ! Well, why douT you go ?” 

You seem to desire it so earnestly, that I shall remain . 
to provoke you.” 

warn you that I shall send for the manager to rid me 
of your presence.” 

^^Let him come if he is tired of his life I I am ready.” 

But are you crazy? I tell you that you compromise 
me; that you make me break a rule recently introduced by 
her majesty; that you expose me to a heavy fine, perhaps 
to a dismissal.” 

I shall take upon myself to pay the fine to your direc- 
tor with a few blows of my cane. As to your dismissal, I 
ask nothing better. I will carry you to my estates, where 
we will lead a jovial life together.” 

I follow such a brute as you?. never! Come, let us 
leave this together, since you are determined not to leave 
me here alone.” 

Alone, say you, my charmer? That is what I mean 
to satisfy myself of before leaving you. There is a screen 
there which seems to me to occupy too much space in this 
little room. If I kicked it to one "side 1 think it would be 
doing you a good service.” 


CONSUELO. 


706 


‘‘Stop, sir; stop! a lady is dressiug there. Would you 
injure a woman, bandit that you are 

“A woman? oh! that is another affair; but I must see 
if this woman has not a sword by her side.^^ 

The screen began to yield, and Consuelo, now full at- 
tired, threw on her mantle, and while they opened, the 
first fold of the screen, she endeavored to push the last so 
as to make her escape by the door, which was not two paces 
from her. But Gorilla, who saw her intention, stopped 
her, saying: “Remain there, Porporina; if he did not find 
you he would say it was a man, and might perhaps kill 
me.^' Consuelo, frightened, was about to show herself ; 
but Gorilla, who had stationed herself between her lover 
and Porporina, again prevented her. She hoped, perhaps, 
by exciting his jealousy, to make him overlook the grace 
and beauty of her rival. 

“If it be a lady,^^ said he, smiling, “let her reply. 
Madam, are you attired? may I offer my respects to you?’^ 

“ Sir,^^ replied Consuelo, on a sign from Gorilla, “please 
reserve them for some other occasion ; I am not to be 
seen.^^ 

“ That is to say, that this is a good time to look at you,^’ 
said Corilla^s lover, again threatening to push aside the 
screen. 

“ Take care what you do,” said Gorilla, with a forced 
laugh “perhaps in place of a handsome shepherdess you 
may find a respectable duenna.” 

“ By jove, it is not possible! Her voice hardly betokens 
twenty. If she had not been young and handsome, you 
would have shown her to me long ago.” . 

The screen was very lofty, and, notwithstanding his 
height, the stranger could not see over it unless by throw- 
ing down all the articles of Gorilla’s dress which were scat- 
tered over the chairs; besides, as he had no longer feared 
the presence of a man, the sport amused him. 

“ Madam,” cried he, “if you are old and ugly, do not 
speak, and I shall respect your asylum. But if on the 
other hand you are young and handsome, say but a word, 
were it only to refute Gorilla’s calumnies.” 

Consuelo did not reply. 

“ Ah! by my faith I am not going to be duped in that 
way! If you were old or ugly you would not acknowledge 
it so readily; you are doubtless angelic, and therefore mock 


CONSUELO. 


707 

my doubts. In any case I must see you, for either you are 
a prodigy of beauty, fit to bear the palm from the fair 
Gorilla herself, or else you have wit enough to admit your 
ugliness, and I should be glad to see for the first time in 
my life an ugly woman who makes no pretentions to 
beauty.” 

He seized Gorilla’s arm with two of his fingers, and bent 
it in his grasp, as if it had been a straw. She uttered a 
shrill cry, and pretended to be bruised and hurt; but heed- 
less of her plaint he thrust aside the screen and revealed 
to Gonsuelo’s gaze the horrible countenance of Baron 
Francis Trench. A rich and fashionable dress had re- 
placed his savage war costume, but his gigantic proportions 
and the reddish black scars which disfigured his weather- 
beaten countenance, at once betrayed the bold and pitiless 
leader of the Pandours. 

Gonsuelo could not repress a cry of terror, and sud- 
denly turning pale she sank back into her chair. 

Do not be afraid of me, madam,” said the baron, 
sinking on one knee before her, ^'and pardon the boldness 
which I now feel I cannot sufficiently expiate. But suffer 
me to believe that it was out of pity toward me, seeing that 
to see is to adore you, that you refused to show yourself. 
Do not grieve me so far as to make me believe I terrify 
you. I confess I am ugly enough; but if the wars have 
converted a tolerably handsome fellow into a sort of mon- 
ster, they have not rendered him less good-natured on that 
account. 

‘'Less good-natured? no, that would be impossible,” re- 
plied Gonsuelo, turning her back on him. 

“ Gome, come,” replied the baron, “ you are a some- 
what wayward child, and your nurse has doubtless told you 
frightful stories about me, as the old women of this coun- 
try do not fail to do. But the young ones do me more 
justice; they know that if I am a little rough with the 
enemies of my country, they can easily tame me if they 
will only take the trouble.” 

And he leaned toward the mirror in which Gonsuelo 
pretended to look, fixing on her at the same time the bold 
and ardent gaze which had fascinated and subdued Gorilla. 

Gonsuelo saw that she could not get rid of him, unless 
by affronting him. 

“Sir,” said she, “you do not inspire me with fear, but 


708 . 


CONSUELO. 


with disgust and aversion ; you delight in butchery, and 
though 1 do not fea'r death, I detest sanguinary minds such 
as yours. I am just come from Bohemia, where I have 
seen the bloody traces of your footprints.'’^ 

The baron changed countenance, and shrugging his 
shoulders, said, turning to Corilla: 

What mad sybil have you got here? The baroness 
Lestocq, who once fired a pistol point blank at me, was 
not more frantic. Is it possible that I can have crushed 
her lover without knowing it in galloping over some bush? 
Come, my fair one, I was only jesting with you. If you 
are of so savage a turn, I ask your pardon; but I deserve 
to be served, so for having for a moment forgotten the, 
divine Corilla.” 

^^The divine Corilla,” replied the latter,” cares noth- 
ing about you, and only wishes to get rid of you. The 
director will be here presently, and if you do not disap- 
pear ” 

‘MVell, I’m off,” said the baron; ^^as I do not wish to 
vex you, and injure your voice in the estimation of the 
public, by making-you shed a few pearly drops. My car- 
riage will be waiting for you when the performance is 
over. Is it agreed?” 

Here he saluted her, in spite of a pretended resistence 
before Consuelo, and retired. 

Corilla forthwith embraced her companion, and thanked 
her for having so well repulsed the baron’s advances. Con- 
suelo turned her head away, for Corilla and her lover were 
at this moment equally disgusting in her eyes. 

‘^How can you be jealous of a being so repulsive?” she 
said. 

Zingarella, you know nothing about it,” replied 
Corilla, smiling. The baron pleases women in a more 
lofty position than I am. His figure is superb, and his 
face, though somewhat scarred, has attractions which you 
could not withstand if he was determined to please you.” 

‘‘Ah! Corilla, his face is not the worst; his soul is 
more hideous still. Do you not know that his heart is the 
heart of a tiger?” 

“And do you not see that this is what has turned my 
head?” replied Corilla, warmly. “ How tiresome is all the 
stupid stuff that those effeminate creatures say to us! But 
to chain a tiger, to tame a - lion, and hold him in leading 


CONSUELO, 


709 


strings — to make one whose very glance has put armies to 
flight, one whose saber can chop off an ox’s head as easily 
as a poppy — sigh and tremble — ah! that is indeed some- 
thing! Anzoleto was a little savage also, and I liked him 
for it; but the baron is worse. Anzoleto might have 
beaten me, but the baron is capable of killing me. Oh! it 
is delightful!” 

Poor Gorilla!” said Consuelo, casting on her a look of 
deep pity. 

“ You pity me for my love, and you are right; but you 
should also envy me. I would rather, however, that you 
should pity me for it than dispute it with me.” 

‘^Do not be uneasy,” said Consuelo. 

Signora si va cominciar\” exclaimed the call-boy at 
the door. 

‘‘Begin!” shouted a stentorian voice from the quarter 
occupied by the chorus-singers. 

“Begin!” repeated a hollow voice from the foot of the 
stairs which ascended from the back of the theater; and 
the last syllables echoed from scene to scene, becoming 
every moment fainter, until, almost expiring, it reached 
the prompter, who announced it to the leader by three 
blows upon the floor. The latter struck his bow twice 
upon the desk before him, and a momentary pause ensued 
before the overture commenced, during which each mem- 
ber of the orchestra collected his energies, and fixed his 
eye upon the conductor, after which, the first notes of the 
symphony enforced silence alike upon the boxes and the 
pit. 

From the very first act of Zenobia, Consuelo produced 
the complete and irresistible effect which Haydn had pre- 
dicted. The greatest actors are not always uniformly suc- 
cessful on she stage; and even supposing that no temporary 
weakness takes possession of their powers, every situation 
and every part is not equally adapted to their development. 
It was the first time that Consuelo filled a part in which 
she could be herself — in which she could manifest, in their 
full force, all her purity, strength, and tenderness, with- 
out, by an artificial effort, identifying herself with an un- 
congenial character. She was able to forget her painful 
task, abandon herself up to the inspiration of the moment, 
and drink in the deep and pathetic emotions which she 
had no time to study, but which were revealed to her, as 


710 


GONSUELO, 


it were, by the magnetic influence of a sympathizing 
audience. This was to her an unspeakable pleasure, and 
just as she had experienced in a less degree during the 
rehearsal, and as she had expressed herself to Joseph, it 
was not her public and overwhelming success which so in- 
toxicated her with joy, but the happiness she felt at put- 
ting her powers to the test, and the glorious certainty of 
having realized for a moment the ideal perfection of which 
she had dreamed. Hitherto she had ever asked herself 
whether she could not have done better, but now she felt 
that she had revealed all her power, and almost heedless 
of the thunders of acclamation, she applauded herself in 
her secret soul. 

After the first act she remained behind the scenes to 
listen to and applaud Gorilla, who acquitted herself charm- 
ingly; but after the second act she felt the necessity of an 
instant’s repose, and returned to her private apartment. 
Porpora, who was otherwise engaged, did. not follow her, 
and Joseph, who, in consequence of the imperial patron- 
age had obtained the privilege of being admitted to the 
orchestra, remained, as may be supposed, in his place. 

Consuelo entered Gorilla’s room, of which she had 
procured the key, swallowed a glass of water, and 
threw herself for an instant on the sofa; but suddenly the 
recollection of the Pandour Trenck made her shudder, and 
she hastened to bolt the door. There was no probability, 
however, that he would make his appearance. He had 
been in the body of the theater from the raising of the 
curtain, and Gonsuelo had distinguished him in a balcony 
among the most enthusiastic of her admirers. He was 
passionately fond of music. Born and bred in Ital}^ he 
spoke the language with all the purity and grace of a native, 
he sang agreeably, and acted so well that it was said, had 
he not been born with other resources, he might have 
made his fortune on the stage. 

But what was Gonsuelo’s terror when, on retiring to her 
sofa, she saw the fatal screen pushed aside, and the hateful 
Pandour appear before her! 

She darted to the door, but Trenck was there before her, 
and placed his back against it. 

Galm yourself, my charmer,” said he, with a frightful 
smile. Since you share Gorilla’s dressing-room, you 
must accustom yourself betimes to see her lover, and you 


ooi^amio. 


ni 


could not be unaware that she had a duplicate key in her 
pocket. You have come to cast yourself into the lion^s 
den — Oh, do not attempt to cry out! Nobody will come. 
Trench’s presence of mind is well known, as well as the 
vigor of his arm, and the little value he places on the lives 
of fools. If he is admitted here, in spite of all the em- 
press’ orders, it is because, to all appearance, there is not 
among all your knights-errant a single one bold enough to 
look him in the face. Come, why are you so pale? why do 
you tremble so? Have you so little self-reliance that you 
cannot listen to three words without becoming confused? 
Do you think I am a person to treat you rudely? These 
are old wives’ stories, my child, which they have told you. 
Trenck is not so bad as they say. It is to convince you of 
that that he wishes to have a moment’s conversation with 
yon.” 

Sir, I shall not listen to a word you utter till you have 
opened that door. On this condition I shall consent to 
hear what you have to say; but, if you persist in shutting 
me up, I shall think that this redoubted hero, as he pro- 
claims himself, wants courage to meet my companions the 
knights-errant.” 

‘^Ah! you are right,” said Trenck, opening the door 
wide. If you do not fear getting cold, I would rather 
have it so than breathe the confounded musk with which 
Gorilla has scented this little chamber.” 

Thus saying, he seized hold of both Consuelo’s hands, 
and forced her to be seated, while he went on his knees, 
without relinquishing his grasp which she could not force 
him to loose unless by a childisli and unbecoming struggle. 
Consuelo, therefore, resigned herself to what she was unable 
to prevent, but a tear which she could not restrain trickled 
slowly down her pale and anxious cheek. This, in place 
of softening and disarming the baron, merely served to 
elicit a gleam of satisfaction from under his bloody and 
puckered eyelids. 

You are unjust,” said he, in a voice whose assumed 
mildness only served to betray his hypocritical satisfac- 
tion. You hate without knowing me. I cannot submit 
without a murmur to your dislike. Once, indeed, I should 
not have cared; but since I have heard the divine Por- 
porina, I feel that I adore her, and must live for her or die 
by her hand.” 


CONStTELO. 


in 


Spare me tliis wretched farce/^ said Consuelo, roused 
to indignation. 

Farce?” exclaimed the haron. Hold!” continued he, 
drawing from his pocket a loaded pistol, which he cocked 
and handed to her. You shall keep this in one of your 
beautiful hands, and if I offend you — were it ever so little — 
if I continue to be hateful to you, kill me at your pleasure. 
As to this other hand, I am resolved to hold it so long as 
you do not give me permission to kiss it. But I wish to 
owe this favor only to your good nature, and you shall see 
me ask and await it patiently, under the muzzle of the 
deadly weapon which can rid you of me when you please.” 

Here Trenck placed the pistol in*Consuelo^s right hand, 
and holding her left, remained with incomparable self-con- 
ceit on h is knees before her. Consuelo now felt herself 
completely reassured, and, holding the pistol so that she 
could make use of it if necessary, said to him with a forced 
smile: 

Now speak, if you please — I shall listen to you.” 

As she said this, she imagined she heard footsteps in the 
corridor, and saw a shadow projected on the door. The 
shadow, however, whether it was that the person had re- 
treated, or that Consuelo’s terror was imaginary, immedi- 
ately disappeared. In the situation in which she was 
placed, having no longer any thing to dread but ill-natured 
remarks, the approach of an indifferent, or even friendly 
person, caused her rather fear than pleasure. If she kept 
silence, the baron on his knees before her, and with the 
door open, must seem to any passer-by in the insolent en- 
joyment of his position as a favored lover; if she called 
out, he would instantly destroy the first person who ap- 
proached. Fifty such instances had already marked his 
career. In such a frightful alternative, Consuelo desired 
nothing so much as instant explanation, and hoped by 
her self-possession to bring Trenck to reason before any 
one should witness, and interpret after his own fashion, 
this extraordinary scene. 

He understood her in part and proceeded to push the 
door^ to, but without closing it. ^‘Surely, madam,” said he, 
turning toward her, it would be absurd to expose yourself 
to the misconstruction of passers-by; this matter must be 
settled between ourselves. Listen to me; I see your appre- 
hensions and I understand your scruples with regard to 


CONSUELO, 


713 


Gorilla. Your honor and reputation are yet dearer to me 
than the precious moments I can look upon you unob- 
served. I know very well that this fury, with whom I was 
for a moment taken, will charge you with treachery if she 
sees me at your feet. She will not have that pleasure; the 
moments are counted. She has still ten minutes to amuse 
the public with her sufferings, and 1 have time therefore 
to tell you that if I have loved her for a brief period, I 
have already forgotten it; do not hesitate, therefore, to 
, appropriate a heart no longer hers and from which nothing 
can efface your image. You alone, madam, rule over me, 
you alone are sovereign of my existence. Why do you 
hesitate? You are guarded by a jealous, gloomy old tutor; 
I will carry you off before his beard. You are beset in the 
theater by a thousand intrigues; the public adores you, 
but the public is ungrateful and would abandon you on the 
first failure of your voice. I am immensely rich and I can 
make you a princess, almost a queen, in my own wild 
country, where I could build you, in the twinkling of 
an eye, theaters and palaces larger and more sumptuous 
than anything that Vienna can produce. I am not hand- 
some it is true, but the scars on my face are more honor- 
able than the paint which covers the sallow faces of your 
fellow-actors. I am severe to my slaves, and implacable 
to my enemies; but if so, I am kind to my faithful serv- 
ants, and those I love breathe an atmosphere of glory and 
opulence. Lastly, I am violent at times; in that you have 
been correctly informed. People, who like me are strong 
and brave, love to use their power when vengeance de- 
mands its exercise; but a woman, pure, timid, gentle, and 
charming as you are, can quell my strength, tame my will, 
and place me at her feet as she would a child. Only try 
me, confide in me, were it but for a time, and when you 
know me better, you will not hesitate to trust me and "fol- 
low me to my native Slavonia. You smile — that name 
you think betokens slavery; nay, heavenly Porporina, it 
is I who will be your slave. Look at me, and accustom 
yourself to deformity which you alone can embellish. Say 
but the word and you shall see the red eyes of Trenck the 
Austrian shed tears of tenderness and joy, as pure and 
heartfelt as the beautiful eyes of Trenck the Prussian— 
that dear cousin whom I love so well, though we fought on 
different sides, and to whom it is said you were not indiL 


714 


GONSUELO, 


ferent. But this Treack is a child, while he who ad- 
dresses you has passed his four-aiid-thirtieth year, though 
the thunder of war which has furrowed his cheek makes 
him seem sixty; he is beyond the age of caprice and will 
assure you of long years of devotion. Speak — speak — say 
yes — and you shall see the scarred and disfigured Trenck 
transformed into a glowing Jupiter! You do not reply — a 
touching modesty keeps you silent. Well, you need say 
nothing, suffer me but to kiss your hand, and I will leave 
you full of confidence and happiness. Judge now if I am 
the tiger which I have been described; I ask you but this 
little favor, I implore it on my knees.^^ 

Consuelo looked with surprise at this frightful man to 
whom so many women had listened with pleasure, and she 
could not help pondering on this fascination which might 
have been irresistible in spite of his ugliness, had he been 
but a good man and animated by an upright passion. 

Have you said all, sir?^’ she asked tranquilly; but all at 
once she grew alternately red and pale, as the Slavonian 
despot cast into her lap a whole liandful of large diamonds, 
enormous pearls, and rubies of price. She rose so sud- 
denly that the precious stones rolled upon the ground for 
the after-profit of Gorilla. Trenck,^^ said she, with all 
the force with which contempt and indignation could in- 
spire her, notwithstanding all your boasting, you are the 
meanest of cowards. You have never fought but with 
lambs and fawns, and you have slain them without pity. 
If a man worthy of the name had turned against you, you 
would have fled like a savage and cowardly hound as you are. 
I know very well where your glorious scars were received 
— in a cellar where you searched for the gold of the con- 
quered, amid the bodies of the dead. Your palaces and 
your little kingdom are cemented with the blood of a noble 
people, on whom a cruel despotism imposes such a ruler as 
you. You have torn from the orphan his bread, from the 
widow her mite; your gold is the price of treason, your 
riches the pillage of churches, where you pretended to 
prostrate yourself in prayer, for you add hypocrisy to your 
other noble qualities. Your cousin Trenck the Prussian, 
whom you so tenderly love, you betrayed and would have 
assassinated; the women whose happiness and glory you 
boasted to have formed, have been torn from their hus- 
bands and fathers, and your present tenderness for me is 


CONSUELO, 


715 


but the caprice of a dissipated libertine. The chivalrous 
submission which has made you venture your life in my 
hands, is but the act of a fool, who thinks himself irresist- 
ible, and the trifling favor you ask of me would be a stain 
which death alone could wash away. This is my last word, 
cut-throat Pandour! Fly from my presence — fly — for if 
you do not let go my hand, which, for the last quarter of 
an hour you have held palsied in your grip, I shall rid the 
earth of a scoundrel who dishonors and disgraces it!^^ 

And is this your last word, daughter of Satan ex- 
claimed Trenck; well woe be to you! The pistol which 
I deigned to place in your trembling hand is only loaded 
with powder, and a little burn more or less is nothing to 
one who is fire-proof. Fire this pistol — make a noise — it 
is all that I desire! I shall be glad to have witnesses, be- 
fore whose faces and in spite of whose beards I shall carry 
you off to my Slavonic castle, which you just now despised 
but to which a short residence will soon reconcile you.” 

Thus saying, Trenck seized Consuelo in his arms; but 
at the same instant the door opened, and a man whose 
face was hidden by crape knotted behind his head, laid 
hold of the Pandour, shook him to and fro like a reed 
beaten by the wind, and dashed him roughly to the floor. 
This was but the work of a few seconds. The astonished 
Trenck rose, and, with savage eyes and foaming mouth, 
darted sword in hand after his enemy, who had j^assed the 
door and appeared to fly.’ Oolisuelo also rushed toward 
the doorway, thinking she recognized in this disguised in- 
dividual the lofty figure and powerful arm of Count 
Albert. She saw him retreat to the end of the corridor 
where a steep and winding stair led in the direction of the 
street. There he paused, awaited Trenck, stooped rapidly 
while the baron struck his sword against the wall, and 
seizing him by the body heaved him over his shoulders 
headlong down the stairs. Consuelo heard the giant 
thunder down the descent, and ran toward her liberator, 
calling Albert, but ere she could advance three steps he 
was gone. A frightful silence reigned upon the staircase. 

Signora, cinque minuti” said the crier with a fatherly 
air, as he issued from the theater stairs which terminated 
on the same landing. ‘‘How does this door happen to be 
open?” continued he, looking at the door of the staircase 
down which Trenck had been hurled^ “ Truly, signora, 


716 


CONSUELO 


you run great risk of getting cold in this corridor/^ lie 
then pulled the door to and locked it, while Consuelo, 
more dead than alive, re-entered her apartment, threw the 
pistols out of the window, and thrusting aside with her 
foot Trenck’s jewels as they lay strewn on the carpet, re- 
turned to the theater, where she found Gorilla heated and 
breathless with her triumph in the intervening scene. 


CHAPTER 0. 

spite of the excessive agitation which Consuelo had 
undergone, she if possible surpassed herself in the third 
act. She neither expected nor calculated upon it. She 
had entered on the stage with the desperate resolution of 
submitting to an honorable failure, since she was con- 
vinced that her voice and strength would entirely desert 
her the moment she was called on to exercise them. She 
was not afraid ; a thousand hisses would have been as 
nothing compared with the shame and danger she had just 
escaped by a sort of miraculous intervention. Another 
miracle followed the first. Consuelo’s good genius seemed 
to watch over her ; her voice far surpassed what it had 
ever been before, she sang with more maestria, and acted 
with more energy and passion than she had hitherto dis- 
played. Her highest powers w^ere called forth, and it 
seemed to her as if every moment she was about to give 
way like a cord too highly strung ; but this feverish excite- 
ment merely served to translate her into another sphere. 
She acted as if in a dream, and was astonished to find 
there the energies and powers of life. 

And then a ray of happiness came to cheer her when 
sinking under the dread of failure. Albert doubtless was 
there. He must have been in Vienna at least from the 
evening before. He observed and watched over all her 
movements ; for to whom else could she ascribe the unfor- 
seen succor which she had received, and the almost super- 
natural strength which it required to overthrow a man 
like Francis Trenck, the Slavonic Hercules. And if, 
from one of those eccentricities, of which his character 
offered but too many examples, he had refused to speak to 
Im' and had avoided her looks, it was evident that he still 


C0N8UEL0. ■ 717 

loved her passionately since he showed himself so anxious 
for her safety, so courageous in her defense. 

Well,” thought Consuelo, since Heaven permits my 
strength to remain unimpaired, I should wish him to see 
me look well in my part, and that from the corner of the 
box whence he now doubtless observes me, he should enjoy 
a triumph which I owe neither to charlatanism nor cabals.” 

^ While still preserving the spirit of her part, she sought 
him everywhere with her eyes, but could nowhere discover 
him, and when she retired behind the scenes she continued 
to seek him, but with the same want of success. Where 
could he be? Where had he taken refuge? Had he killed 
the Pandour on the instant by his fall? Was he forced to 
evade pursuit? Would he seek an asylum with Porpora, 
or should she find him this time on returning to the 
embassy?” All these perplexities however vanished when 
she again entered on the stage, where she forgot as if by 
some magic power all the details of her actual life, only to 
experience a vague sense of expectation mingled with 
enthusiasm, terror, gratitude, and hope. All this was in 
her part, and was expressed in accents admirable for their 
tenderness and truth. 

She was called for at the end of the performance, and 
the empress was the first to throw her from her box a bou- 
quet to which was attached a handsome present. The 
court and city followed the example of the sovereign, and 
showered on her a perfect storm of fiowers. Amid these 
perfumed gifts, Consuelo saw a green branch fall at her 
feet, on which her eyes were involuntarily fixed. When 
the curtain was lowered for the last time, she picked it up 
— it was a branch of cypress! Then all her triumphant 
laurels vanished from her thoughts, leaving as their sole 
occupant this funeral emblem, a symbol of grief and 
despair, and perhaps the token of a last adieu. A death- 
like chill succeeded to this feverish emotion, an insur- 
mountable terror caused a cloud to pass before her eyes, 
her limbs refused to support her, and those around bore 
her fainting into the carriage of the Venetian ambassador, 
where Porpora vainly endeavored to extract a word from 
her. Her lips were icy cold, and her lifeless hand still 
grasped beneath her mantle the cypress branch, which 
seemed to have been thrown by the hand of death. 

On descending the staircase of the theater she had not 


GOMmLO. 


m 


seen the traces of blood, and, in the confusion attendant 
on leaving the theater, few people had observed them. But 
while she returned to the embassy, absorbed in her gloomy 
reverie, a painful scene took 



green-room of the theater. 


performance, some supernumeraries had discovered Trenck 
lying in a fainting state at the foot of the stairs, and bathed, 
in his own blood. He was carried into one of the rooms 
reserved for the performers, and, in order to avoid noise 
and confusion, the director, a medical attendant, and the 
police, had been secretly informed, in order that they 
might attend and certify the fact. The public and the great 
body of performers left the room, therefore, without know- 
ing anything about the matter, while the professional gen- 
tlemen, the imperial functionaries, and some compassionate 
witnesses, exerted themselves to assist the Pandour, and 
draw from him the cause of the accident. Gorilla, who 
had been waiting for his carriage to arrive, and who had 
despatched her waiting-maid several times to obtain some 
tidings of him, was so vexed and annoyed by the delay, 
that she descended by herself, at the risk of having to go 
home on foot. She met Holzbauer, who, knowing her in- 
timacy with Trenck, brought her to the green-room, where 
she saw the Pandour with his head cut and bleeding, and 
his body so covered with contusions that he could not 
move. She filled the air with her shrieks and lamenta- 
tions. Holzbauer dismissed the curious spectators, and 
closed the doors. The cantatrice could throw no light on 
the affair, but Trenck, having now somewhat recovered, 
declared that having penetrated into the interior of the 
theater without permission, in order to see the dancers a 
little more nearly, he had wished to leave the house before 
the end of the performance, and that, unacquainted with 
the intricacies of the building, he had missed his footing, 
and rolled down the cursed stairs to the bottom. They were 
satisfied with this explanation, and carried him home, 
where Gorilla hastened to nurse him with such zeal as to 
lose the favor of Kaunitz and the good will of her majesty; 
but she boldly made the sacrifice, and Trenck, whose 
frame had already resisted worse assaults, escaped with eight 
days^ lameness and an additional scar on his head. 

He mentioned to no one his want of success, but secretly 
resolved to make Gonsuelo pay dearly for it. He would 


COmtJKLO, 


m 

doubtless have fearfully redeemed this promise if an im- 
perial mandate had not suddenly torn him from Gorilla, 
to cast him, still sulfering from the fever of his wound and 
hardly recovered from his fall, into the military prison. 
That which public rumor had vaguely informed the canon 
of was already in course of being realized. The Pandour^s 
wealth had excited a burning, inextinguishable thirst in 
the breasts of several influential and adroit followers of the 
court, and to this lust for riches he fell a victim. Accused 
of all the crimes he had committed, as well as of all those 
which could possibly be imagined by persons interested in 
his ruin, he began to experience the delays, the vexations, 
the impudent prevarications, and refined injustice of along 
and scandalous trial. Avaricious in spite of his ostenta- 
tion, proud notwithstanding his vices, he was not willing 
to recompense the zeal of his protectors, or to bribe the 
conscience of his judges. We shall leave him confined, 
until fresh orders, in his prison, where, having been guilty 
of some violence, he had the mortification and shame to see 
himself chained by the foot. Shame and infamy ! it was 
precisely the foot which had been shattered by the explo- 
sion of a bomb-shell in one of his most brilliant military 
actions. He had undergone the scarification of the ulcer- 
ated bone, and although hardly recovered, had remounted 
his horse and resumed his service with heroic firmness. An 
iron ring, to which was attached a heavy chain, was riv- 
etted upon this horrible scar. Tlie wound reopened, and 
he endured fresh tortures, no longer in the service of 
Maria Theresa, but as a reward for having served her too 
well.* The Great Queen — who had not been displeased 
at seeing him ravage and destroy unfortunate Bohemia, 
which afforded a rather uncertain rampart against the 
enemy, in consequence of the ancient national hatred — the 
king Maria Theresa, wlio, having no longer need of the 
crimes of Trenck and the excess of his pandours to 
strengthen her upon the throne, began to look upon them 
as monstrous and unpardonable — was supposed to be ig- 


* Historical truth requires us to say also by what bravados Trenck 
provoked this inhuman treatment. From the first day of his arrival 
at Vienna he had been put under arrest in his own house by the im- 
perial order. He had, nevertheless, shown himself at the opera that 
very evening, and in an interlude had tried to throw Count Gossaw 
into the pit. 


no 


CONSUELO. 


norant of this barbarous treatment, in the same way that 
the great Frederick was supposed ignorant of the ferocious 
refinements of cruelty, the tortures of inanition, and the 
sixty-eight pounds of iron, under which sank, a little later, 
that other Baron Trenck, his handsome page, his brilliant 
artillery officer, the rescuer and the friend of our Oonsuelo. 
All those flatterers who have flippantly transmitted to us 
the recital of these abominable deeds, have attributed the 
odium of them to subaltern officers or to obscure deputies, 
in order to clear the memory of their sovereigns. But tliose 
sovereigns, so ill-informed respecting the abuses of their 
jails, knew so well, on the contrary, what was passing there, 
that Frederick the Great himself furnished the design for 
the irons which Trenck the Prussian wore for nine years 
in his sepulcher at Magdeburg; and if Maria Theresa 
did not exactly order Trenck the Austrian, her valorous 
pandour, to be chained by the mutilated foot, she was 
always deaf to his complaints, always inaccessible to his pe- 
titions. Besides, in the shameful havoc which her people 
made of the riches of the vanquished, she knew very well 
how to carry off the lion’s share and refuse justice to his 
heirs. 

Let us return to Oonsuelo, for it is our duty as a roman- 
cist to pass lightly over historical details. Still we know 
not how to treat of the adventures of our heroine totally 
apart from the facts which occurred in her time and under 
her eyes. On learning the pandour’s misfortune she re- 
membered no longer the outrages with which he had 
threatened her, and deeply revolted at the iniquity of his 
treatment; she assisted Gorilla in sending him money at a 
time when all means of softening the rigor of his captivity 
were refused him. Gorilla, better skilled in spending 
money than in acquiring it, found herself penniless exactly 
on the day when a secret emissary of her lover came to 
claim the necessary sum. Gonsuelo was the only person to 
whom this girl, prompted by the instinct of confidence and 
esteem, dared to have recourse. Gonsuelo immediately 
sold the i^resent which the empress had thrown upon the 
stage at the conclusion of Zenohia, and handed the pro- 
ceeds to her comrade, expressing at the sanie time her ap- 
proval of her conduct in not abandoning the unfortunate 
Trenck in his distress. 

Gorilla’s zeal and courage, which went every length in 


CONSUELO. 


721 


assisting the sufferer, induced Consuelo to regard with a 
sort of esteem a creature who although corrupted still had 
intervals of disinterested generosity. ‘‘Let us prostrate 
ourselves before the work of God's hand," said she to Jo- 
seph, who sometimes reproached her with being too inti- 
mate with this Gorilla. “ The human soul always preserves 
something great and good in its wanderings to which we 
owe respect, and in which we acknowledge with joy the 
impress of the divine hand. Where there is much to com- 
plain of there is also much to pardon, and where there is 
cause for pardon, good Joseph, be assured there is also 
cause to love! I confess to you that the part of a sister of 
charity seems to suit me better than a more secluded and 
gentler life, more glorious and agreeable resolves, the tran- 
quillity of happy, respected, immaculate beings. My heart 
is made like the paradise of the gentle Jesus, where there 
is more joy over one repentant sinner than over ninety-and- 
nine just persons. I feel myself inclined to compassionate, 
sympathize, succor, and console. It seems to me as if the 
name my mother gave me at my birth, subjected me to 
this duty and this destiny. It is my only name, Beppo ! 
Society has given me no family name to uphold, and if the 
world were to say that I lowered myself in seeking a few 
particles of pure gold from amid the dross of the miscon- 
duct of others, I owe the world no account. I am Con- 
suelo, and nothing more ! and this is enough for the 
daughter of Rosmunda, for Rosmunda was one on whom 
the world looked with coldness and contempt; yet such as 
she was, I was bound to love her, and I did love her. She 
was not respected as Maria Theresa is, yet she would not 
have chained Trenck by the foot, and left him to die in 
torture in order to obtain posession of his wealth. Gorilla 
herself would not have done it; in place of seeking her own 
advantage she supports this Trenck who often treated her 
most cruelly. Joseph — Joseph! God is a greater emperor 
than ours, and since Mary Magdalene is seated in his pres- 
ence, Gorilla may perhaps one day take precedence even of 
the imperial queen. As for myself, I feel that if I had 
abandoned the culpable or the unhappy to seat myself at 
the banquet of the just, I should not have been on the 
highway of my salvation. The noble Albert, I feel assured, 
would join in this sentiment and would be the last to 
blame me for showing kindness to Gorilla," 


722 


CONSUELO. 


When Consiielo uttered these words to her friend Beppo, 
fifteen days had elapsed since the representation of Zenohia 
and the adventure of Baron Trenck. The six representa- 
tions for which she had been engaged were completed, and 
Tesi had resumed her place in the theater. The empress 
busied herself privately through the ambassador Corner 
with Oonsuelo^s proposed marriage with Haydn, promising, 
on that condition alone, an engagement for the latter in 
the imperial theater. Joseph was ignorant of all this, and 
Consuelo foresaw nothing. She thought only of Albert, 
who did not reappear, and from whom she received no 
intelligence. A thousand conjectures and contradictory 
conclusions passed through her mind, which, together with 
the shock she had experienced, tended to undermine her 
health. She had remained confined to her apartment 
since her engagement had expired, and continually gazed 
at the cypress branch which seemed to have been plucked 
from some tomb in the grotto of the Schreckenstein. 

Beppo, the only friend to whom she could open her 
heart, endeavored at first to dissuade her from the idea 
that Albert had arrived in Vienna. But when he saw the 
cypress branch, he pondered deeply on the mystery, and 
ended by believing in the part the young count had taken 
in Trenck^s adventure. “Listen,^’ said he; I think I 
know how it has all happened. Albert has been in 
Vienna, he has seen you, heard you, observed what you 
did, and followed your steps. The day that we conversed 
together behind the scenes, he might have been on the 
other side of the decoration and have heard the regret 
which I expressed on seeing you snatched from the theater 
when in the climax of your glory. You yourself made use 
of some vague expressions which might have led him to 
suppose that you preferred the splendor of your present 
career to his somewhat gloomy love. Next day he saw you 
enter Gorilla’s chamber, where, since he was always on the 
watch, he probably saw the Pandour precede you. The 
time which elapsed before he came to your assistance, al- 
most proves that he believed you there of your own accord; 
and it was only after yielding to the temptation of listen- 
ing at the door, that he could be aware of the necessity of 
his interference.” 

^‘Even if your supposition be correct,” replied Con- 
suelo, why use this mystery? why assume this masked 
countenance ?” 


GONSUELO, 


723 


You know the suspicious nature of the Austrian police. 
Perhaps he does not stand well at the court ; perhaps 
he may have political reasons for concealing himself, or 
perhaps again his countenance is not unknown to Trenck. 
Who knows whether he may not have encountered him 
during the wars in Boliemia? Whether he may not have 
threatened him, dared him, or perhaps forced him to let 
go his hold of some poor innocent? Count Albert may 
have secretly performed deeds of exalted courage and 
humanity when he was supposed to be asleep in his grotto 
at Schreckenstein, and if he had done such he certainly 
would be the last to relate tliern, since by your admission 
he is the most humble and modest of men. He acted 
wisely therefore in not openly chastising the Pandour; for 
if the empress punisli the Pandour to-day for having 
devastated her dear Boliemia, she will not on that account 
be the more disposed to overlook any past act of resistance 
to his authority on the part of a Bohemian. 

‘^All that you say is very just, Joseph, and gives room 
for deep thought. A thousand anxieties beset me. Albert 
may have been recognized and arrested, and that too with- 
out the public knowing any more about it than about the 
fall of Trenck down the stairs. Alas! perhaps even now 
he is in the prisons of the arsenal beside Trenck^s dungeon, 
and it is on my account he incurs this misfortune!” 

‘^Comfort yourself, Consuelo, I cannot believe that tjiat 
is the case. Count Albert has left Vienna, and you will 
shortly receive a letter from him dated from Eiesenburg.” 

Do you think so, Joseph?” 

do. But if I must tell you all, I believe that the 
tenor of this letter will be very different from what you 
expect. I am convinced that far from exacting from your 
generous friendship the sacrifice of your artistic career, 
that he has already renounced the idea of this marriage, 
and is about to restore you your liberty. If he be in- 
telligent, noble, and just, as you say he is, he would hesi- 
tate to tear you from the theater which you love so pas- 
sionately. Nay, never deny it ! I have seen it, and he 
also must have seen and felt it, in witnessing Zenohia. He 
will therefore reject a sacrifice which is beyond your 
strength, and I should esteem him but little were he not 
to do so.” 

But read his last letter! See, here it is, Joseph! Does 


724 


CONSUELO. 


lie not say he would love me as dearly in the theater as in 
the world or in a convent? Does he not propose in marry- 
ing me to leave me free?’^ 

Saying and doing, thinking and being, are two dif- 
ferent things. In the dream of passion all seems possible, 
but when realities strike our vision we return with terror 
to our former ideas. Neyer will I believe that a man of 
rank could bear to see his wife exposed to the caprices and 
outrages of the audience of a theater. In venturing behind 
the scenes for the first time certainly in his life, the count 
must have witnessed in Trenck^s conduct toward you a 
melancholy specimen of the miseries and dangers of a 
theatrical career. He has fled in despair it is true, but at 
the same time cured of his passion, and freed from his 
chimeras. Pardon me that I thus address you, my dear 
sister Consuelo, but I feel constrained to do so; for it were 
well for you that you never saw Count Albert more. You 
will one day feel the truth of this, though your eyes now 
swim with tears. Be just toward your betrothed instead 
of feeling humiliated at his change of sentiment. When 
he said he was not averse to the theater, he had formed an 
ideal picture of it which the first inspection completely dis- 
sipated. He then became aware that he should cause you 
misery in taking you from it, or consummate his own in 
following you.^’ 

‘‘You are right, Joseph. I feel that you are; but suffer 
me to weep. It is not the humiliation of being forsaken 
and disdained that oppresses my heart: it is my regret for 
the image of ideal love and its power which I had formed 
just as Albert had done with respect to my theatrical 
career. He has now seen that I can no longer be worthy 
of him (in the opinion of men' at least), in following such 
a profession, and I, on my part, am forced to admit that 
love is. not strong enough to overcome all prejudices.” 

“ Be just, Consuelo, and do not ask more than you have 
been able to grant. You did not love well enough to give 
up your art without hesitation or regret; do not therefore 
take it ill if Count Albert be unable to break with the 
world without some degree of terror or aversion.” 

“ But whatever might have been my secret pain (and I 
may confess it), I was resolved for his sake to sacrifice 
every thing; while he ” 

Reflect that the passion was on his side^ not on yours, 


COmUELO. 


m 


lie asked with ardor — you consented with effort. He must 
have been aware that you were about to sacrifice yourself 
for him; and he felt that he was not only at liberty to free 
you from a love which you had not sought or desired, but 
that he was conscientiously bound to do so.” 

This reasoning convinced Consuelo of Albertis wisdom 
and generosity. She feared in giving herself up to grief 
to yield to the suggestions of wounded pride, and, accept- 
ing Josephus hypothesis as correct, she succeeded in calm- 
ing herself. But by a well-known contradiction of the 
human heart, she no sooner saw herself at liberty to follow 
her inclination for the theater without hindrance or re- 
morse, than she felt terrified at her solitary position in the 
midst of such corruption, and at the prospect of the toils 
and struggles which lay before her. The theater is a 
feverish arena, in comparison with which all the emotions 
of life appear tame and lifeless; but when the actor retires 
from its precincts, broken down with fatigue, he feels a 
sensation of terror at having undergone such a fiery trial, 
and his longing to return is checked by fear. The rope- 
dancer, I imagine, is no bad type of this perilous and in- 
toxicating life. He experiences a terrible pleasure on 
those lines and cords where he performs feats apparently 
beyond human power; but when he was descended, he 
shudders at the idea of again mounting the giddy height 
and facing at once death and triumph — that two-faced 
specter that ever hovers above his head. 

It was then that the Castle of the Giants, and even the 
Stone of Terror, that nightmare of her dreams, appeared 
to the exiled Consuelo as a sort of lost Paradise, the abode 
of peace and the revered asylum of piety and virtue. She 
fastened the cypress branch — that last message from the 
grotto — to her mother’s crucifix, and, thus mingling these 
emblems of Catholicism and heresy, her heart rose to 
the conception of one only eternal and unalloyed 
religion. It was then that she found comfort for her 
personal sufferings, and faith in the providence of God 
toward Albert, and toward all that crowd of mortals, good 
and bad, whom henceforth she must encounter alone and 
unaided. 


m 


00N8UEL0, 


CHAPTER CL 

One morning Porpora siiniinoned her earlier than Usual 
into his apartment. He had a joyous air, and held an 
enormous letter in one hand and his spectacles in the other. 
Consuelo shook and trembled through her whole frame, 
thinking it was at last the answer from Kiesenburg. But 
she was soon undeceived; it was a letter from Hubert, the 
Porporino. This celebrated singer announced to his master 
tliat all the proposed conditions for Consuelo’s engagement 
had been accepted, and he sent the contract, signed by 
Baron Poelnitz director of the theater royal at Berlin, and 
only requiring Consuelo's signature and his own to com- 
plete it. To this was added a kind and even respectful 
letter from the baron himself, who engaged Porpora to 
take the direction of the King of Prussia’s chapel, with the 
permission at the same time to bring out as many new 
operas and fugues as he pleased. Porporino expressed his 
joy at the prospect of being so soon able to sing along with 
a sister in Porpora, and warmly invited the maestro to 
quit Vienna for Pans Souci, the delightful abode of Fred- 
erick the Great. 

This letter was a source of joy and at the same time of 
perplexity to Porpora. Fortune it would seem was about 
to smile upon him at last, and kingly favor, then so neces- 
sary for the success of artists, awaited him alike at Berlin, 
whither Frederick invited him, and at Vienna, where 
Maria Theresa made him such brilliant promises. In 
either case Consuelo must be the instrument of his victory 
— at Berlin in impressing the public with a favorable idea 
of his productions, at Vienna in marrying Joseph Haydn. 

The moment was now come to place his fate in the hands 
of his adopted child. He gave her the option of marriage 
or departure, but at the same time was much less urgent 
in pressing on her acceptance the hand and heart of Beppo 
than he had been the evening before. He was somewhat 
tired of Vienna, and the idea of being appreciated and 
feasted by the enemy seemed to him a sort of vengeance, 
the effect of which he highly exaggerated it is true upon 
Austria. In short, Consuelo having said nothing about 
Albert, and having apparently renounced the idea of a 
union with him, he much preferred that she should not 


C0N8UEL0. 


727 


marry at all. Consuelo soon put an end to his uncertainty 
on the score of Joseph Haydn, by telling him that for 
many reasons she could never marry him. In the first 
place he had never asked her, being engaged to his bene- 
factor’s daughter, Anna Keller. 

“ In that case,” said Porpora, we need no longer hesi- 
tate. Here is your engagement for Berlin drawn out. 
Sign it, and let us set out; for there are no longer any 
hopes here, unless you submit to the empress’ mania for 
matrimony. This is the price of her protection, and any 
refusal would sink us to the lowest point in her esteem.” 

My dear master,” replied Consuelo, with more firm- 
ness than she had hitherto shown toward Porpora, I am 
ready to obey you as soon as I can satisfy my conscience 
on one important point. Certain relations of affection and 
esteem, not lightly to be broken, connect me with the lord of 
Kudolstadt. I shall not conceal from you, that, notwith- 
standing your incredulity, your raillery, and your re- 
proaches, I have kept m3^self, during the three months I 
have been here, free from every engagement opposed to 
■ this marriage. But, after a decisive letter which I wrote 
six weeks ago, and which went through your hands, cer- 
tain events have taken place which lead me to believe that 
the family of Kudolstadt have given me up. Each day 
that passes adds to my conviction that I am freed from 
my engagement, and at liberty to devote myself to you. 
You see that I accept this destiny without hesitation or 
regret; neverthelees, after what I have written, I could not 
feel satisfied without a reply. I expect it every day; it 
cannot be long now. Permit me, therefore, to defer the 
Berlin engagement until after I receive ” 

Ah! my poor child,” said Porpora, who, at his pupil’s 
first words had leveled his batteries, which were already 
prepared, '^ybu will have long to wait! The reply that 
you expect I have received a month ago.” 

And you have never shown it to me?” exclaimed Con- 
suelo. “ You have left me in this state of uncertainty? 
Master, you are very strange! How can I confide in you, 
if you deceive me thus?” 

‘Hn what have I deceived you? The letter was ad- 
dressed to me, and I was enjoined not to show it to you 
until after I saw you cured of your foolish love, and dis- 
posed to listen to the voice of reason and the dictates of 
propriety.” 


m 


CONSVELO. 


Are those the terms that were made use of?” exclaimed 
Consuelo, reddening; ‘^it is impossible that Count Albert 
or Count Christian could thus have designated a friendship 
so calm, reserved, and proud as mine!” 

‘‘Terms are nothing,” said Porpora; “people of the 
world always speak in polite language; but the purport of 
it was that the old count was not at all anxious to have a 
daughter-in-law picked up behind the scenes, and that 
when he knew that you had appeared here on the stage, 
he forced his son to give up the idea of such a degrading 
connection. The good Albert listened to reason, and set 
you at liberty. I see with pleasure that you are not an- 
noyed. Then everything is for the best, and hey for 
Prussia!” 

“Master, show me the letter,” said Consuelo, “and I 
shall sign the contract immediately after.” 

“The letter? the letter? — why do you wish to see it? It 
would only vex you. There are certain follies which we 
must forgive in others as well as in ourselves. Forget all 
that!” 

“We cannot forget by a mere act of the will,” replied 
Consuelo; “reflection assists us, and points out motives. 
If I am repelled by the Eudolstadts with disdain, I shall 
easily be consoled. If I am restored to liberty with expres- 
sions of esteem and affection, I shall still be consoled, but 
in another manner and at less cost. Show me the letter 
then. What can you be afraid of, since, in either case, I 
shall obey you ?” 

“Well, I will show it to you,” said the malicious professor 
opening his secretary, and pretending to search in it for 
the letter. He opened all his drawers, shook out all his 
papers, but this letter, which had never existed, was 
nowhere to be found. He feigned impatience, while Con- 
suelo really felt it. She began herself to j’ummage, and 
he allowed her to do so. Porpora then endeavored to 
recollect the wording of it, and improvised on the instant 
a polite and decided version. Consuelo could not suspect 
her master of such systematic and prolonged dissimulation. 
We must state, for the honor of the old professor, that he 
dissembled very badly; but the candid and unsuspecting 
Consuelo was easily persuaded; she at last concluded that 
in a moment of abstraction Porpora had lighted his pipe 
with the letter; and, after having returned to her chamber 


(JONSUELO, 


m 


to utter a short but fervent prayer, and vow eternal friend- 
ship on the cypress to Count Albert, even if his conduct 
toward her had been such as the letter stated, she re- 
turned tranquilly to sign an engagement for two months 
at Berlin, to commence from the end of the current 
month. This was more than sufficient time to arrange for 
their departure. When Porpora saw the freshly-written 
signature upon the paper, he embraced his pupil, and sa- 
luted her solemnly as an artist. 

To-day is your confirmation,’’ said he, '^and were it in 
my power to make you utter vows, I should dictate an 
eternal i^nunciation of love and marriage; for now you 
are priestess of harmony, and she who devotes herself to 
Apollo should remain, like the muses themselves, a vestal 
virgin.” 

‘^1 feel that I ought not to vow celibacy,” said Consuelo, 
‘^though at this moment it seems to me that nothing 
would be easier than to make such vow and keep it; but I 
might change my mind, and then I should regret a 
promise which I would be unable to break.” 

‘'You are the slave of your word, then ? Yes, you dif- 
fer in that respect from the rest of mankind; and I be- 
lieve, did you make a solemn promise, you would relig- 
iously hold by it.” 

“ I believe I have already given proof of that, my dear 
piaster; for, since the day of my birth, I have always been 
under the dominion of some vow. My mother taught me, 
both by precept and example, that kind of religion which 
she carried even to fanaticism. When we were traveling 
together, she was accustomed to say to me as we ap- 
proached the large cities : ‘ My little Consuelo, if I am 

successful here, I take you to witness that 1 make a vow 
to go with bare feet and pray for two hours at the chapel 
which has the greatest reputation for the sanctity in the 
country.’ And when she had been what she called suc- 
cessful, poor soul ! that is to say, when she had earned a 
few crowns by her songs, we never failed to accomplish 
our pilgrimage, whatever might be the weather, and at 
whatever distance was the chapel in repute. That species of 
devotion was not indeed very enlightened nor very sub- 
lime, but nevertheless I look upon those vows as sacred ; 
and when my mother, on her death-bed, made me swear to 
follow her injunctions, she knew well she could die tran- 


m 


GONSUELO. 


quil, in the full confidence that I should keep my oath. 
At a later period I promised Count Albert not to think of 
any other but him, and to employ all my strength to love 
him as he wished. I have not failed in my promise, and 
if he did not now himself free me, 1 should have remained 
faithful to him all my life.” 

Leave your Count Albert alone if you please, you 
must think no more of him ; and since it appears that you 
must be under the dominion of some vow, tell me by what 
one you are going to bind yourself to me.” 

‘'Oh! master, trust to my reason, to my character, to 
my devotion toward you! do not ask me for ^aths, for 
they are a frightful yoke to impose upon one’s self. The 
fear of breaking them takes away the pleasure one has in 
thinking and acting well.” 

“I shall not be content with such excuses,” returned 
Porpora, with a half severe, half jesting tone ; “ I see that 
you have made oaths to everybody except me. And since ^ 
from mere good nature, without any feeling of love, yon 
bound yourself by such weighty promises to Count Albert 
of Rudolstadt, who was a perfect stranger to you, I shall 
think it very strange if, on a day like this — a happy and 
memorable day, in which you are restored to liberty and 
wedded to your noble profession — you refuse to make the 
smallest vow for your old teacher and your best friend.” 

“ Oh, yes ! my best friend, my benefactor, my support, 
and my father !” cried Consuelo with emotion, throwing 
herself into Porpora’s arms — Porpora, who was so chary in 
showing tenderness, that only twice or thrice in his whole 
life had he displayed his fatherly affection without conceal- 
ment or reserve. “ Yes, I can truly make, without terror 
or hesitation, the vow to devote myself to your happiness 
and your glory, while I breathe the breath of life.” 

“My happiness is your glory, Consuelo, as you well 
know,” said Porpora, pressing her to his heart. “I can- 
not conceive of any other. I am not one of those old Ger- 
man burghers, who dream of no other felicity than that of 
having their little girl by their side to fill their pipe or 
knead their cake. I am not an invalid, I require neither 
slippers nor potion, thank God, and when I am reduced to 
that state I will not consent that you devote your days to 
me, as you even now do with too much zeal. No, it is not 
iluvotion which I ask of you, that you know well j what I 


C0N8UEL0. 


m 

demand is, that you shall be with heart and soul an artist. 
Do you promise me that you will be one, that you will 
combat that languor, that irresolution, that sort of disgust 
which you experienced at the commencement of your 
career ?” 

“I promise solemnly; and be assured also, my dear 
master, that you shall never have cause to charge me with 
the crime of ingratitude.^^ 

Oh! as to that, I do not ask so much,” replied he, bit- 
terly ; it is more than belongs to human nature. When 
you are a prima donna, celebrated in every nation of 
Europe, you will have promptings of vanity and ambition 
— vices of the heart from which no great artist has ever 
been able to defend himself. You will long for success, 
no matter how purchased. You will not resign yourself 
to obtain it by patient perseverance, or to risk it for the 
sake of remaining faithful either to friendship or to the 
worship of beauty in its highest and purest forms. You 
will yield, as they all do, to the yoke of fashion ; in each 
city you will sing the music that is in favor there, without 
troubling yourself about the bad taste of the public or the 
court. In fine, you will make your way and will be great 
notwithstanding, since there are no other means of seeming 
so in the eyes of the multitude. Provided that you do not 
forget to choose your subject with care, and sing well 
when you have to undergo the judgment of a little coterie 
of old heads like myself, and that, in the presence of the 
great Handel and Bach, you do honor to Porpora^s method 
and credit to yourself, it is all that I ask — all that I hope! 
Y^ou see that I am not a selfish father, as some of your 
flatterers no doubt accuse me of being. I ask nothing 
from you which will not be for your own happiness and 
glory.” 

And I care for nothing that relates to my personal 
advantage,” replied Consuelo, touched by her old master’s 
words. ‘Ll may allow myself to be carried away in the 
midst of success by an involuntary feeling of intoxication, 
but I cannot coolly think of planning a whole life of 
triumph in order to crown myself therein with my own 
liands. I wish to procure glory for your sake, my dear 
master ; I wish to show you, spite of your incredulity, that 
it is for you alone that Consuelo labors and travels, and, 
in order to prove to you at once that you have calumniated 


732 


GONSUELO. 


her, since you believe in her oaths I swear to you to prove 
what I assert.” 

And by what do you swear that?” said Porpora, with 
a smile of tenderness which was still mingled with a shade 
of distrust. 

^'By the white hairs on the sacred head of Porpora,” 
replied Oonsuelo, drawing the old man^s silvered head to 
her breast with all a daughter’s affection, and kissing it on 
the brow with fervor. 

They were interrupted at this moment by Count Hoditz, 
who was announced by a gigantic heyduc. This man, 
while requesting permission for his master to present his 
respects to Porpora and bis pupil, looked at the latter with 
an air of attention, uncertainty, and embarrassment which 
surprised Consuelo, who was unable to remember where 
she had seen that good-natured though somewhat odd 
face. The count was admitted and presented his request 
in the most courteous terms. He was about to depart for 
his manor of Roswald in Moravia, and, wishing to render 
that residence agreeable to the margravine his spouse, 
was preparing a magnificent festival to surprise her on her 
arrival. In consequence he proposed to Consuelo to go 
and sing for three consecutive evenings at Roswald, and 
he requested that Porpora would be pleased to accompany 
her in order to assist in directing the concerts, perform- 
ances, and serenades, with which he intended to regale the 
margravine. 

Porpora alleged as an excuse the engagement he had just 
signed, and the necessity he was under of being in Berlin 
on a certain day. The count requested to see the engage- 
ment, and as Porpora had always found him civil and 
obliging, he gratified liim, admitting him into the secret 
and allowing him the pleasure of commenting and giving 
advice upon it ; after which Hoditz persisted in his 
demand, representing that they had more than sufficient 
time to make all the necessary arrangements without fail- 
ing in the time fixed. You can settle every thing in 
three days,” said he, and travel to Berlin by way of 
Moravia.” It was not the direct road, indeed ; but in- 
stead of proceeding slowly by way of Bohemia, through a 
country badly supplied with post-horses and lately devastated 
by war, Porpora and his pupil would thus arrive quickly 
and easily at Roswald, in one of the count’s carriages and 


CONSUELO, 


733 


with his relays — in short, at his trouble and expense. He 
promised, also, to conduct them from Roswald to Pardu- 
bitz, if they chose to descend the Elbe to Dresden ; or to 
Chrudim, if they decided to go by way of Prague. The 
facilities of traveling which he offered them would so far 
tend to shorten their journey, and the considerable sum 
which tliey were to receive would enable them to pursue 
the remainder of it with more comfort. Porpora therefore 
agreed to the proposal, notwithstanding Consuelo seemed 
somewhat disinclined to it. The terms were arranged and 
the time of departure was settled for the end of the week. 

When Hoditz, after respectfully kissing Consuelo^s hand, 
had left her alone with her master, she reproached the 
latter with having so easily yielded. Although she had no 
longer any thing to apprehend from the count’s imperti- 
nence, she could not help feeling some degree of resentment 
against him, and never went to his house with pleasure. 
She did not like to tell Porpora of the adventure at Passau, 
but she reminded him of his sarcasms upon Count Hoditz’s 
musical' discoveries. 

Do you not see,” said she, that I shall be condemned 
to sing his music, and that you will have to direct his 
cantatas, and perhaps even his operas? Is this the 
fidelity which you would have me display for the culture of 
the beautiful?” 

‘^Come, come!” said Porpora, smiling, ^^it will not be so 
bad as you think; I expect to be famously amused, without 
the patrician maestro suspecting it in the least. To per- 
form these things in public before a respectable audience 
would be a shame and a disgrace; but it is allowable to the 
artist to amuse himself, and he would be much to be pitied 
if he was not sometimes permitted to laugh in his sleeve at 
those by whom he gains his bread. Besides you will see 
the princess of Oulmbach there, whom you like, and who 
is truly charming; she will laugh with us, though she sel- 
dom laughs at all at her step-father’s music.” 

There was nothing for it but to give up the point, make 
her arrangements, and say farewell. Joseph was in despair. 
Nevertheless a stroke of good fortune, a real gratification 
for an artist, helped to compensate him, or at least to turn 
his attention from the pain of separation. While perform- 
ing a serenade beneath the window of the excellent comic 
actor Bernardoni, the famous harlequin of the theater of 


734 


GONSUELO, 


the Corinthian gate, his performance struck this amiable 
and excellent artist with admiration and surprise. He made 
him come in, and asked who was the author of the original 
and agreeable trio. On learning the truth, he was aston- 
ished at the young composer’s youth and talent, and at 
once confided to him the music of a ballet which he was 
writing, and which was entitled The Devil on Two Sticks, 
Haydn worked indefatigably at the tempest incidental to 
the piece, which cost him much labor, and the remem- 
brance of which made the good old man smile even when 
eighty years of age. Oonsuelo sought to amuse him and 
dissipate his melancholy by always talking to him about his 
tempest, which Bernardoni wished to be terrible, aud which 
Beppo, never having beheld the sea, did not know how to 
describe. Oonsuelo pictured to him the Adriatic in a 
storm, and sang the mournful plaint of the waves, not 
without laughing with him at those imitative harmonies 
which require to be aided by blue cloths, shaken from scene 
to scene by vigorous arms. 

‘^Listen,” said Porpora to him ojie day, in order to put 
an end to his uncertainty ; ^‘you might labor a hundred 
years with the best instruments in the world, and the most 
intimate knowledge of winds and waters, without being 
able to translate the divine harmonies of nature. This is 
not the province of music. It is merely guilty of folly and 
conceit when it runs after noisy effects and endeavors to 
imitate the war of the elements. Its nature is much higher. 
Its domain is that of the emotions. Its aim is to inspire 
them, as its origin is from their inspiration. Think then 
of a man abandoned to the fury of the waves, and a prey 
to the deepest terror; imagine a scene at once frightful, 
magnificent, terrible; the danger imminent, and then, 
musician — or I should rather say, human voice, human 
wailing, living and thrilling soul — place yourself in the 
midst of this distress, this disorder, this confusion and de- 
spair ; give expression to your anguish, and your hearers, 
intelligent or not, will share it. They will imagine that 
they behold the sea, that they hear the groaning of the 
riven timbers, the shouts of the mariners, the despair of 
the hapless passengers! What would you say of a poet, 
who in order to depict • a battle, should tell you in verse 
that the cannon uttered boom, boom, and the drums club, 
club? It would be a better imitation than any image, but 


CONSUELO. 


735 


it would not be poetry. Painting itself, that descriptive 
art par excellence^ does not consist in servile imitation. 
The artist would trace in vain the dull green sea, the dark 
and stormy heaven, the shattered ship. If his feelings do 
not enable him to render the terrible and poetical whole, 
his picture will make as little impression as any ale-house 
sign. Therefore, young man, inspire your whole being 
with the idea of some great disaster ; it is thus you will 
render it moving to the feelings of others.” 

He continued to repeat these paternal exhortations, while 
the carriage, now ready to start, was being packed with the 
travelers’ luggage. Joseph listened attentively to his les- 
sons, drinking them in as it were from the fountain-head, 
but when Oonsuelo, muffled in a cloak and fur cap, came 
to throw herself on his neck, he turned pale, stifled a cry, 
and not able to witness her departure, he fled, and hast- 
ened to hide his grief in the depths of Keller’s back-shop. 
Metastasio by degrees conceived a friendship for him, per- 
fected him in Italian, and compensated him, in some de- 
gree, by his good advice and generous services for Porpora’s 
absence; but Joseph long continued to sigh with bitter re- 
gret for the loss of his tried friend and sister, Oonsuelo. 

She on her side, although sincerely lamenting her separa- 
tion from her faithful and amiable fellow-pupil, and feel- 
ing at first considerably dejected, found her spirits and 
courage gradually revive, and her poetic aspirations once 
more spring to life as she penetrated into the mountains of 
Moravia. A new and brighter horizon seemed opening be- 
fore her. Freed and unfettered from all unfriendly ties, 
she saw herself at liberty to pursue her cherished art, and 
she inwardly resolved to devote herself heart and soul 
to its elevating and refining culture. Porpora, restored to 
the hope and the cheerfulness of his youth, thrilled her by 
his eloquent declamations ; and the noble girl, without 
ceasing to love Albert and Joseph as two brothers whom she 
humbly hoped to meet once more in the mansions of the 
blessed, felt her bosom bound lightly as the lark which 
soars aloft with swelling note to salute the rising day. 


736 


C0N8UEL0. 


CHAPTER CII. 

From the second relay Consuelo had recognized in tlie 
domestic who was seated before her upon the box of the 
carriage, and who paid the guides and scolded the pos- 
tilions for their tardy pace, the same heyduc who had 
announced Count Hoditz on the day when he came to 
propose to her their pleasure excursion to Roswald. This 
tall showy looking man, who continually looked at her as 
if by stealth, and who seemed divided between his wish to 
speak to her and the fear of giving offense, at last fixed 
her attention, and one morning, when she was breakfasting 
in a solitary inn at the foot of the mountains — Porpora 
having gone to walk in pursuit of some musical theme, 
while waiting for the horses to be baited — she turned toward 
the man at the moment when he was handing her coffee, 
and looked at him somewhat angrily. But he assumed 
such a piteous expression that she could not help laughing. 
The April sun was reflected in dazzling rays from the snow 
which still crowned the mountain summits, and our 
young traveler found herself as if by sympathy in a gay 
and joyous frame of mind. 

^^Alas!” said the heyduc, ^^your highness does not 
deign to remember me then? But I should never forget 
you, were you disguised as a Turk or a Prussian corporal; 
yet I only saw you for an instant, but what an instant in 
my life!'" 

Thus saying he placed the salver on the table, and 
coming close up to her, he gravely made the sign of the 
cross, kneeled on the ground, and kissed the floor at 
her feet. 

‘^Ha!" exclaimed Consuelo, Karl the deserter, is it 
not?" 

Yes, signora," replied Karl, kissing the hand which 
she held out to him; “^at least they tell me I must address 
you so, though I could never tell exactly whether you were 
a lady or a gentleman." 

Indeed? And whence comes your uncertainty?" 

‘‘ Because I saw you first as a boy, and since then, 
although I recollected you very well, you were as like a 
young girl as you were before otherwise. But that is 
nothing; whatever you are, you conferred favors on me 


CONSUELO, 


737 


which I shall never forget; and were you to command me 
to cast myself from the top of yonder peak, I would do so 
at your bidding without a moment’s hesitation.” 

ask nothing from you, my brave Karl, but to be 
happy and free; for you are now at liberty, and I hope 
enjoy your life!” 

liberty? yes,” said Karl, shaking his head; ‘‘but 
happy — alas! I have lost my poor wife!” 

Consuelo’s eyes filled with tears as she saw Karl’s manly 
features working with emotion. 

“Ah!” said he, wiping away a tear, “poor soul, she 
had gone through too much ! The vexation of seeing 
me taken prisoner by the Prussians a second time, the 
fatigue of a long journey on foot when she was very weak 
and ill, and then the joy of seeing me once more, gave 
her such a shock that she died in eight days after reaching 
Vienna, where, thanks to your note and Count Hoditz’s 
assistance, she found me again. This generous gentle- 
man sent his own doctor and gave every assistance, but 
nothing was of any use; she was weary of life, look you, 
and she has gone to rest in the heaven of the merciful.” 

“ And your daughter?” continued Consuelo, who hoped 
by these questions to prevent his thoughts from dwelling 
on his loss. 

“ My daughter?” said he, gloomily, and seeming hardly 
conscious of what he said; “the King of Prussia has 
killed her too.” 

“ IIow! killed? What do you mean?” 

“Was it not the King of Prussia who killed the mother 
in bringing all this evil upon her ? Well, the child 
followed her mother. Since the evening when, after 
seeing me bleeding, gagged, and torn off by the re- 
cruiters, they remained lying half dead upon the 
road, the little one took a raging fever, and fatigue and 
want did the rest. When you saw them on the bridge of 
some Austrian village, they had not eaten any thing for 
two days. You gave them money; you told them I was 
saved; you did every thing in your power to comfort and 
cure them; they told me all that, but it was too late. 
They continued to sink from the moment we again met; 
and just when we might indeed have been happy, they 
both went down to the grave. The earth was scarcely 
heaped over iny poor wife’s body when it had to be re- 


738 


C0N8UEL0. 


moved to make room for my child; and now, thanks to 
the King of Prussia, Karl is alone/^ 

No, my poor Karl, you are not alone ; you have 
friends who will always take an interest in your welfare, 
on account of your good heart/^ 

know it. Yes, there are good people, and you are 
one of them. Bat what do I want now? I have no wife, 
no child, no country! I would never be safe at home 
again, for my mountain is too well, known to the robbers 
who sought me out twice before. One of the first 
questions I asked myself when I saw myself alone in the 
world, was, if we were at war, or if we should soon be so, 
for I had a notion of serving against Prussia, so as to kill 
as many of these Prussians as I could. 8t. Wenceslas, 
the patron saint of Bohemia, would have strengthened 
my arm, and not a ball would have left my gun in 
vain. Perhaps Providence would have suffered me to meet 
the King of Prussia himself in some defile, and then — 
were he armed like the Archangel Michael — should I have 
to follow him as a dog follows a wolf — but I learned that 
peace was settled, and then having no longer any taste for 
soldiering, I waited on Count Hoditz to ask him not to 
present me to the empress, as he had intended. I would 
have killed myself, but he was so kind to me, and the 
Princess of Culmbach his daughter, to whom he related 
my history, told me such fine things of the duties of a 
Christian that I consented to enter their service, where in- 
deed I am too well fed and too well treated for all I have 
"to do.” 

But, in the meantime, tell me, my good Karl,” said 
Consuelo, drying her eyes, how you knew me again ?” 

Did you not come one evening to sing at the house of 
the margravine, my new mistress? You then passed by 
me dressed all in white, and I knew you at once, although 
you had become a young lady. Why, you see, I may for- 
get many places through which I pass, as well as the 
names of people I have met, but as to faces I never forget 
them. 1 began to cross myself when I saw a young man 
who followed you, and whom I recognized at once as Jo- 
seph; but in place of being your master (for he was better 
dressed in those days than you), he had become your ser- 
vant, and remained in the antechamber. He did not know 
me; and as the count had forbidden me to mention a word 


CONStJELO. 


m 


to any body of what had happened (I never asked nor 
knew why), I did not speak to the good Joseph, though I 
was well inclined to give him a hug. He almost immedi- 
ately retired to another apartment; and 1 had orders not 
to quit the one I was in, and a good servant you know 
holds by his orders. But when every one was gone, Henri, 
my lord’s valet, who is in his confidence, came to me and 
said — ‘ Karl, you said nothing to Porpora’s little attendant 
although you knew him, and you did well. The count 
will be pleased with you. As to the young lady who sang 

this evening ’ ‘Oh! I knew her also!’ I exclaimed, 

‘ but I said nothing.’ ‘ Very well,’ he added, ‘ you did well, 
for the count wishes no one to know that she traveled with 
him as far as Passau.’ ‘ That is nothing to me,’ said I ; 
‘ but I wish to know how she delivered me out of the hands 
of the Prussians.’ Henri told me all about it, for he was 
there; how you had run after the carriage, and how when 
you had nothing to fear on your own account you made them 
come back to free me. You told something of it to my 
poor wife, and she told me. She died blessing you; ‘for,’ 
said she, ‘ they are poor young things almost as ill off as 
ourselves; and for all that, they gave us what they had got, 
and wept as if they had belonged to us.’ So when I saw 
Joseph in your employment, having been directed to bring 
him some money for playing on the violin for my master, 
I slipped a few ducats (the first I had earned) into the 
paper, and he never knew any thing about it. When we 
return to Vienna, I shall take care that he never wants, so 
long as I have a farthing.” 

“Joseph is no longer in my employment, my good 
Karl; he is my friend. He is no longer embarrassed ; he 
is a musician, and earns his bread easily. Ho not strip 
yourself, therefore, on his account.” 

“ As to you, signora,” said Karl, “ I cannot do any 
thing for you, because you are a great actress, they say ; 
but if you ever want a servant, do you see? and cannot 
pay him, send to Karl — that is all. He will wait upon you 
for nothing, and be glad to do it.” 

“ Your gratitude, my friend, is sufficient recompense. 
I ask no further.” 

“ Stay! Here is Master Porpora returning. Eemember, 
signora, that I have not the honor to know you otherwise 
than as a servant placed at your command by my master.” 


740 


CONSVELO. 


The next day our travelers having risen very early, 
arrived not without difficulty about mid-day at the chdteau 
of Roswald. It was situated in an elevated region, on the 
slope of one of the most magnificent mountains in Mora- 
via, and so well protected from cold winds, that the spring 
was already felt there while at half a league round the 
winter still prevailed. Although the season was exceed- 
ingly early and the weather lovely, the roads were hardly 
passable. But Count Hoditz, who doubted of nothing and 
for whom the impossible was a jest, had already arrived, 
and had a hundred pioneers at work smoothing the road 
over which the majestic equipage of his noble spouse was 
to roll the next day. It would, perhaps, have been a more 
conjugal plan, as well as one more likely to be of assistance 
to the fair traveler, to have journeyed along with her, but 
it was not of so much consequence, it seemed, to hinder 
her from breaking her arms and legs on the road, as to give 
her a f4te; and dead or alive, she must needs have a splen- 
did entertainment on taking possession of Roswald. 

The count hardly allowed our travelers time to change 
their dress until he forced them to sit down to a splendid 
entertainment, served in a mossy and rocky grotto, which 
an enormous stove, skillfully masked by false rocks, 
warmed to an agreeable temperature. At first sight this 
place seemed enchanting to Consuelo. The view which 
opened from the entrance of the grotto was really magnifi- 
cent. Nature had done every thing for Roswald. Precip- 
itous and picturesque hills, forests of evergreens, abundant 
springs of water, lovely and extensive prospects, immense 
prairies, surrounded it on every side. It seemed that with 
a comfortable habitation all this was enough to constitute a 
perfect paradise. But Consuelo soon perceived the strange 
contrivances by which the count had succeeded in spoiling 
the sublimity of nature. The grotto would have been charm- 
ing without the windows, which made it merely an unseason- 
able dining-room. As the honeysuckles and climbing plants 
were only beginning to bud, the frames of the doors and the 
windows had been masked with artificial leaves and flowers, 
which only served to make the whole seem ridiculous. The 
shells and stalactites, somewhat damaged by the winter, 
disclosed to view the plaster and mastic which fastened 
them to the walls, and the heat of the stove, melting the 
remains of the frost which had been concentrated in the 


CONSUELO. 


741 


vaulted ceiling, brought down upon the heads of the guests 
a blackish and unhealthy rain, which the count was deter- 
mined not to observe. Porpora was exceedingly annoyed, 
and two or three times put his hand to his hat, but with- 
out daring to clap it on his head, as he was dying to do. 
He feared above all that Consuelo might take cold, and he 
ate very fast, pretending a great impatience to see the 
music which was to be executed the next day. 

^^What is the matter with you, dear maestro?” said the 
count, who was a great eater, and loved to dilate on the 
pieces of plate of which his dinner service was composed; 
“ able and accomplished musicians siicli as you are need 
but little time for study. The music is simple and natural. 
I am not one of those pedantic composers who seek to as- 
tonish by strange and elaborate combinations of harmony. 
In the country, we require simple pastoral music, and like 
the margravine, my spouse, I "admire only unambitious 
and easy airs. You will see that everything will get on 
well. Besides we do not lose any time; while we break- 
fast my major-domo is giving the necessary directions, and 
we shall find the choruses ready and the musicians at 
their post.” 

As the lord of the mansion said these words he was in- 
formed that two strangers, traveling through the country, 
requested permission to pay their respects to the count, 
and to visit the palace and gardens of Roswald. 

The count was accustomed to visits of this sort, and 
nothing afforded him greater pleasure than to be the 
cicerone of those who desired to inspect the splendors of 
his abode. 

‘^Show them in, they are welcome!” he exclaimed; 
‘^and place seats for them at the table.” 

A few seconds after, two officers were introduced 
dressed in the Prussian uniform. He who walked first, 
and behind whom his companion seemed determined to 
conceal himself, was little and had rather a disagreeable 
countenance. His long, thick, and vulgar nose made his 
gaping mouth and retreating or rather absent chin seem 
more repulsive than they would otherwise have been. His 
shoulders were of a round and ungainly shape, and to- 
gether with the ugly military costume invented by Fred- 
erick, gave him a sort of antiquated and even decrepit air. 
Yet this man was at the farthest about thirty years of age; 


742 


CONSUELO. 


his step was firm; and when he took off the hideous hat 
which concealed the upper portion of his face, he displayed 
the only redeeming features it possessed — a decided, in- 
telligent, reflecting forehead, expressive eyebrows, and eyes 
of extraordinary animation and brilliancy. His glance 
produced the same startling change in his appearance as 
the sunk’s rays which animate and embellish the most 
dreary and unpoetical landscape. He seemed a whole 
head taller when his eyes lighted up his pale, restless, and 
mean-looking countenance. 

Count Hoditz received them with more cordiality than 
ceremony, and without losing time in compliments, he 
made them sit down at table, and helped them from the 
best dishes with true patriarchal hospitality; for Hoditz 
was one of the kindest of men, and his vanity, far from 
corrupting his heart, only increased his confidence and 
generosity. Slavery still I’eigned over his domain, and all 
the wonders of Roswald were created at little cost by his 
numerous vassals, whose chains, however, he decked with 
flowers. He made them forget what was necessary, in 
loading them with superfluities; and, convinced that 
pleasure was happiness, he amused them so well that they 
never thought of freedom. 

The Prussian officer — for in reality there was only one, 
the other being little better than his shadow — appeared at 
first somewhat astonished, not to say affronted at the 
count’s bluntness, and affected a degree of polite reserve, 
when the count said to him : “I entreat you. Captain, to put 
yourself at your ease, and act just as if you were in your 
own house. I know that you are accustomed to the strict 
and admirable regularity of the armies of the great Fred- 
erick; but here you are in the country, and if we do not 
amuse ourselves in the country, why do we visit it? I per- 
ceive that you are well-educated, polite persons, and you 
certainly are not officers of the king of Prussia without 
having given proofs of military science and unflinching 
bravery. I consider that you do honor to my poor dwelling, 
and I trust you will dispose of it at your pleasure, and 
prolong your stay so long as it shall be agreeable to you.” 

The officer immediately responded to this invitation like 
a man of tact and good sense. After having thanked his 
host he began to try the champagne, without however its 
producing the slightest effect on his coolness and self- 


CONSUBLO. 


m 


possession, and vigorously attacked a pasty, on the cookery 
of which he made such profound and scientific remarks as 
were not calculated to raise him in the esteem of the ab- 
stemious Consuelo. She was nevertheless struck with his 
piercing glance; but although it astonished it did not 
charm her, as it seemed to express something haughty, 
prying, and suspicious, which was not calculated to inspire 
affection. 

Wliile eating, the officer informed the count that he was 
called the Baron de Kreutz, that he was originally from 
Silesia, where he had been sent to procure horses for the 
cavalry, and that finding himself at Neisse, he could not 
resist the desire of visiting the celebrated palace and gar- 
dens of Roswald. That in consequence he had that morn- 
ing crossed the frontier with his lieutenant, and had pur- 
chased some cattle by the way, in order to turn the oppor- 
tunity to good account. He even offered to visit tlie 
count^s stables, if he had any horses to dispose of. He 
traveled on horseback and intended to return the same 
evening. 

“ I will not hear of it,'’’ said the count; besides, I have 
none to spare at present — indeed I have too few to carry 
out all my improvements here. But if you have no objec- 
tion I will employ the time much better in enjoying your 
society, as long as you can make it convenient to remain.” 

“But we learned on our way hither that you were in 
momentary expectation of the Countess Hoditz’s arrival, 
and as we should be most unwilling to put. you to incon- 
venience, we shall take our leave the moment slie arrives.” 

“ I do not expect the countess till to-morrow,” replied 
the count; “she will be accompanied by her daughter, 
the Princess Culmbach. For you are not unaware perhaps, 
gentlemen, that I have had the honor to contract a lofty 
alliance ” 

“With the Dowager Margravine of Bareith,” replied 
the baron rather abruptly, who did not appear so much 
dazzled with this title as the count had expected. 

“ She is the King of Prussia’s aunt,” resumed the latter 
with emphasis. 

“ Yes, yes, I know that,” said the Prussian officer, tak- 
ing a huge pinch of snuff. . 

“And as she is a most affable and condescending lady,” 
continued the count, “I have no doubt she will feel in- 


COmtr£!LO. 


Hi 

finite pleasui‘e in receiving and entertaining the hravO 
servants of his majesty, her illustrious nephew/^ 

We are truly sensible of the honor,” said the baron, 
smiling; but we have not leisure to avail ourselves of it. 
Our duties call us imperatively hence, and we must take 
leave of your highness this evening; meanwhile we shall 
be happy to admire this delightful residence with which 
the king our master has nothing that can be compared.” 

This compliment completely restored all the Moravian 
count^s good humor toward his Prussian guest. They rose 
from table. Porpora, who cared much less for the prome- 
nade than the rehearsal, wished to excuse himself. 

‘‘By no means,” said the tiount; “you shall see, my 
dear maestro, that we can manage both at the same time.” 

He offered his arm to Consuelo, and preceded the rest. 
“ Excuse me, gentlemen,” said he, “if I offer my arm to the 
only lady present; it is my right as host. Have the good- 
ness to follow me; I shall serve as your guide.” 

“Permit me to ask, sir,” said the Bai*on de Kreutz, 
addressing Porpora for the first time, “ who this amiable 
lady is?” 

“ Sir,” replied Porpora, who was not in the best of tem- 
pers, “I am an Italian; I understand German indiffer- 
ently, and French still worse.” 

The baron who had hitherto conversed with his host in 
French, according to the fashion of the time, repeated his 
question ii^ Italian. 

“ This amiaWe lady, who has not spoken one word before 
you,” replied Porpora, dryly, “is neither margravine, nor 
princess, nor baroness, nor countess; she is an Italian 
singer not wholly devoid of talent.” 

“ On that account I should wish so much the more to 
know her name,” said the baron, smiling at the maestiVs 
bluntness. 

“It is my pupil, the Porporina,” replied Porpora. 

“I arn informed that she is very clever,” observed the 
other, “and that she is impatiently expected at Berlin. 
And since she is your pupil, I perceive that I address the 
illustrious Master Porpora.” 

“At your service,” replied Porpora, hastily, and clap- 
ping on his hat, which he had taken off in reply to a low 
bow from the Baron Kreutz. The latter, seeing him so 
little disposed to be communicative, dropped behind and 


CONSUELO. 


745 


rejoined his lieutenant. Porpora, who might almost be 
said to have eyes in the back of his head, observed that 
they were laughing together and speaking about him in 
their own language. This conduct did not advance them 
in his opinion, and he did not so much as even look at 
them during the rest of the promenade. 


CHAPTER cm. 

They descended a steep little slope, at the bottom of 
which they found a river in miniature, which had been 
formerly a pretty, limpid, and gurgling streamlet; but as 
it was necessary to make* it navigable, its bed had been 
smoothed, its fall diminished, its banks pared and trimmed 
regularly, and its beautiful waters muddied by recent 
labors. The workmen were still busied in clearing away, 
some rocks which obstructed its progess, and gave it some 
appearance of nature. A gondola was in waiting to re- 
ceive the party, a real gondola which the count had brought 
from Venice, and which made Consuelo’s heart beat with 
a thousand pleasant and painful reminiscences. The party 
embarked. The gondoliers were also real Venetians, 
speaking their native dialect; they had been brought along 
with the bark, as, in the present day, the negro-keepers 
are with the giraffe when they exhibit. Count Hoditz, 
who traveled a good deal, imagined that he could speak 
every language, but though he had a great deal of confi- 
dence, and gave his orders to the gondoliers in a loud 
voice and marked accent, the latter would have understood 
him with difficulty had not Consuelo served as interpreter. 
They were directed to sing some verses of Tasso, but 
these poor wretches, chilled by the icy coldness of the 
north, banished from their native clime, and bewildered by 
the strange scenes around them, .gave the Prussians a very 
poor specimen of their style. Consuelo was obliged to 
prompt them at every stanza, and promise to hear them 
rehearse the portions they were to* sing before the mar- 
gravine the next day. 

When they had rowed about a quarter of an hour in a 
space which might have been passed in three minutes, but 
in which the poor stream, thwarted in its course, had been 
tortured into a thousand intricate windings, they reached 


74G 


CONSUELO. 


the open sea. This was a tolerably large basin which 
opened to their view from between clumps of cypresses and 
firs, and the unexpected coup d’mil of which was really 
pleasing. But they had no time to admire it. They were 
obliged to embark on board of a pocket man-of-war, in 
which every mast, sail, and rope was critically correct, and 
which presented a complete model of a ship with all her 
rigging. It was rather inconveniently crowded, however, 
with sailors and passengers, and ran the utmost risk of 
foundering. Porpora was shivering with cold, the carpets 
were quite damp, and I even believe that, in spite of the 
particular examination which the count, who had arrived 
the day before, had already made of every portion of her, 
the vessel leaked badly. No one was at ease excepting the 
count — who, thanks to his character of entertainer, never 
cared for the little discomforts connected with his pleasures 
— and Oonsuelo, who began to be much amused by the 
follies of her host. A fleet proportioned to the flag-ship 
came to place itself under her orders, and executed 
maneuvers which the count himself gravely directed, armed 
with a speaking-trumpet, and standing erect upon the 
poop, getting quite annoyed when matters did not go to 
his liking, and making them recommence the rehearsal. 
Afterward they advanced in squadron to the villainous 
music of a brass band, which completed Porpora’s exaspera- 
tion. It is well enough to freeze us and make us catch 
oold,^^ said he, between his teeth; but to flay our ears in 
this style — it is too much!^^ 

‘^Make all sail for the Peloponnesus!” roared the count 
through his trumpet, and the squadron floated toward a 
bank crowned with miniature buildings in imitation of 
Greek temples and antique tombs. They steered toward a 
little bay masked by rocks, from which, when about ten 
paces distant, they were received by a discharge of 
musketry. Two men fell dead upon the deck, and an 
active cabin-boy, who had his station in the rigging, 
uttered a loud cry, descended, or rather let himself slide 
down adroitly, and rolled into the very midst of the com- 
pany, screaming that he was wounded and holding his 
head, which he said had been fractured by a ball. 

Come this way,” said the count to Oonsuelo, I want 
you for a little rehearsal I intend having on board my ship. 
Have the goodness to represent the margravine for a 


CONSUELO. 


747 


moment, and order this dying youth and these dead men, 
who, by the way, died very awkwardly, to rise, be cured, 
and defend her highness against the insolent pirates en- 
trenched in yonder ambuscade.” Consuelo hastened to 
assume her part, and filled it with far more natural grace 
and dignity than the countess would have done. The 
dead and dying rose on their knees and kissed her hand. 
The count however informed them that they were not 
really to touch her highness’ fingers with their lips, but to 
kiss their own hands while they pretended to salute hers. 
Then dead and dying rose to arms with the utmost en- 
thusiasm, while the little tumbler who acted the cabin-boy 
ran up the mast like a cat and discharged a light carbine 
at the pirates of the bay. The fleet ranged up close round 
this new Cleopatra and discharged their miniature broad- 
sides with a fearful rattle. 

Consuelo, warned by the count who did not wish to alarm 
her, was not taken by surprise at this rather strange 
comedy, but the Prussian officers, toward whom 4he same 
precaution had not been observed, seeing two men fall at 
the first fire, drew closer to each other and grew very pale. 
He who said least appeared terrified for his captain, and 
the visible uneasiness of the latter did not escape Consuelo’s 
close and observing glance. It was not fear, however, 
that was depicted on his countenance so much as a sort of 
haughty indignation, as if his dignity as a Prussian soldier 
had been outraged. Hoditz paid no attention to him, and 
when the combat was at its height, the captain and his 
lieutenant laughed with the loudest, took the joke in good 
part, and soon waved their swords in the air, to add to the 
effect of the scene. 

The pirates, who were embarked in light skiffs, and 
were dressed in Grecian costume, and armed with pistols 
and blunderbusses charged with powder, boarded the 
vessels, bold as lions. They were however repulsed with 
great slaughter, so as to give the good margravine an op- 
portunity of bringing them to life. The only cruelty 
practiced was that of tumbling some of them into the sea. 
The water was very cold, and Consuelo felt very sorry for 
them, until she saw that they liked it, and took a pleasure 
in showing their companions how well they could swim. 

When Cleopatra and her attendant fleet had thus borne 
off the victory and taken the pirate flotilla, they proceeded, 


748 


CONSUELO, 


to the sounds of triumphal strains — enough, according to 
Porpora, to raise the devil — to explore the isles of Greece. 
They soon approached an unknown island, on which were 
seen rude wigwams peeping forth from strange and exotic 
plants, real or imitated, one could not say which, so much 
was the real and the false everywhere confounded together. 
To the shores of this island were fastened canoes into which 
the natives of the country threw themselves, and with 
savage cries came out to meet the fleet, bringing with them 
fruits and flowers recently culled from the hot-houses of 
the establishment. The savages were frizzled, bristling, 
tattooed, and more like demons than men. The costumes 
were rather indifferently in keeping, some being crowned 
with feathers like Peruvians, others furred like Esquimaux, 
but they were not subjected to too close a scrutiny; pro- 
vided they were ugly enough, they passed for cannibals at 
the very least. These creatures made abundant grimaces, 
and the giant who seemed their chief, and who had a false 
beard flowing down to his waist, delivered a discourse 
which Count Hoditz had composed in the supposed dialect 
of the country. This was a species of gibberish arranged at 
random to represent a language at once barbarous and 
grotesque. The man having finished his harangue to the 
counPs satisfaction, the latter undertook to translate this 
fine speech to Consuelo, who still continued to play for the 
time the part of the absent countess. 

This discourse,” said he, imitating the savage^s gest- 
ures, ^‘signifies, madam, that this cannibal people, whose 
wont it is to devour every stranger, suddenly touched and 
subdued by your charms, wish to lay at your feet their 
ferocity, and to offer you the sovereignty of these unknown 
lands. Deign to visit them, and although they now 
appear sterile and uncultivated the wonders of civilization 
will spring up under your feet.” 

They landed on the isle amid the dances and songs of 
the young female natives. Strange beasts and stuffed 
figures which knelthy means of a spring, saluted Consuelo 
on her approach. Then by means of ropes the freshly 
planted trees and shrubs fell down, the pasteboard rocks 
crumbled to pieces, and disclosed pretty cottages, decorated 
with leaves and flowers. Shepherdesses leading real flocks, 
village girls dressed after the latest fashion of the opera— 
although a little coarse it must be confessed when seen 


(JONSUELO. 749 

i.iear at hand — even tame fawns and kids came to offer 
their homage to their new sovereign. 

It is here/^ said the count to Consnelo, that you 
will have to play your part to-morrow before her highness. 
They will procure you the costume of a pagan divinity all 
covered with flowers and ribbons, you will be in this 
grotto, the margravine will enter, you will sing the can- 
tata which I have in my pocket, and yield up your rights 
to her, seeing that there can be only one goddess where 
she deigns to appear.” 

Permit me to see the cantata,” said Consuelo, taking 
the manuscript from Hoditz. It required little trouble to 
read and sing this trifle at first sight ; the music and 
words were each worthy of the other. It was only neces- 
sary to learn it off by heart. Two violins, a harp, and a 
flute, concealed from view in the depths of the cave, and 
observing neither time nor measure, constituted the accom- 
paniment. Porpora made them begin again, and, at the 
end of a quarter of an hour all went well. It was not the 
only part Consuelo had to perform in the fete, nor the 
only cantata Hoditz had in his pocket ; happily they were 
short, for it was not desirable to fatigue her highness with 
too much music. 

Leaving the island, they set sail and landed on the 
shores of China. Porcelain towers, gaudy kiosks, stunted 
gardens and miniature bridges, bamboo thickets and tea 
plantations — nothing was wanting. Meu of letters and 
mandarins in Chinese costume, uttered discourses in their 
native language ; and Consuelo, who had taken an oppor- 
tunity below to attire herself as a lady mandarin, had to 
try a few couplets to a Chinese air, arranged in Count 
Hoditz's usual style : 

“ Ping, pang, tiong. 

Hi, hang, hong.” 

Such was the chorus, which signified, thanks to the 
brevity of this wonderful language : 

"^Beautiful margravine, mighty princess, queen of 
hearts, reign forever over your happy husband, and your 
joyous empire of Roswald in Moravia. 

Leaving China, they proceeded in rich palanquins, 
borne on the shoulders of poor Chinese serfs, to the sum- 
mit of a little mountain, where they found the city of 


^50 


CONStlELO, 


Lilliput, forests, lakes, mountains, houses with their fur- 
niture and utensils — all on the same miniature scale. 
Puppets danced in the market-place to the accompani- 
ment of hurdy-gurdys and kettle-drums. The persons 
who moved the strings, and who produced this beautiful 
music, were hidden in caves constructed for the purpose. 

Descending the mountains of Lilliput, they came to a 
desert some hundred paces in extent, filled with enormous 
rocks and vigorous trees in all the wild luxuriance of 
nature. It was the only spot which the count had not 
spoiled or mutilated; he had left it just as he found it. 

What to do with this steep defile long puzzled me,” 
said he to his guests. did not know what use to make 
of these huge rocks, nor what shape to fashion these lofty 
trees, when the idea occurred to me to baptize this desert 
spot the ^ Chaos.^ The contrast I thought would not be 
unpleasing, especially when after leaving these frightful 
scenes, the visitor gains admission to scrupulously neat 
parterres and smoothly-shaven lawns. You are about to 
see a happy invention I have introduced here.” 

Thus saying, the count turned round a huge rock which 
obstructed the path, for in the desert a smoothly-graveled 
walk was indispensable, and Consuelo found herself at the 
entrance of a hermitage hollowed out of the rock, and sur- 
mounted by a rude wooden cross. The hermit of the 
Thebaid made his appearance; he was an honest peasant, 
whose long white beard contrasted happily with his ruddy 
and youthful countenance. He delivered a handsome 
address (of which his master corrected the errors), pro- 
nounced his benediction, and offered roots and a bowl of 
milk to Consuelo. 

Your hermit seems to me rather young,” said Baron 
de Kreutz ; you should have put a real old man here.” 

That would not have pleased the margravine,” 
observed Count Hoditz, ingenuously. She thinks very 
reasonably that old age is not attractive, and that in a fete 
none but young actors are suitable.” 

I shall spare the reader the rest of the excursion. I 
should never have done if I were to describe the dif- 
ferent countries, the Druidical altars, Indian pagodas, 
canals and covered passages, virgin forests, subterranean 
caverns, artificial mines, with ball rooms, elysian fields,* 
tombs, cascades, naiads, serenades, and the six 


CONSUELO. 


To! 

sand fountains which Porpora afterwards alleged he 
had to sioalloio. There were innumerable other in- 
ventions which the memoirs of the day speak of with 
admiration, even to the minutest details, such as a dim 
grotto in the depths of which you were infallibly terrified 
by your own image in a looking-glass; a convent wliere, 
under pain of imprisonment for life, you were . forced to 
pronounce vows of eternal submission and adoration to the 
margravine; a rainy tree, which by means of a pump con- 
cealed in the branches, deluged you with ink, blood, or 
rosewater, accordingly as it was intended to compliment or 
mystify you ; in short, a thousand ingenious, novel, in- 
comprehensible, and above all, expensive secrets, which 
Porpora was rude enough to find scandalous, stupid, and 
intolerable. Night alone put an end to this excursion 
round the world, in the course of which they had traveled 
sometimes on horseback, sometimes on donkeys, in litters, 
carriages, or open boats, fully three leagues. 

Insensible to cold and fatigue, the two Prussian officers, 
although they laughed at such of the amusements as 
seemed rather too puerile, were not so much struck as 
Consuelo with the absurdity of this marvelous abode. She 
was a true child of nature, accustomed to the open air, 
and, from the time that she could see, to look at the works 
of God without screen or opera-glass. But Baron de 
Kreutz, although perhaps not altogether fascinated with 
this thoroughly artificial aristocracy, was influenced by the 
ideas and manners of the age. He by no means hated 
grottoes, hermitages, and symbols, and in short he was 
amused, showed much wit and humor in his remarks, and 
on entering the dining-hall said to his companion, who 
was respectfully expressing sympathy for his weariness: 

‘‘Weary? not at all. I have taken exercise, I have 
gained an appetite, seen a thousand follies, relieved my 
mind from dwelling on serious thoughts; I have neither 
lost my time nor trouble.^’ 

They were surprised to find in the dining-room only a 
circle of chairs set round an empty space. The count 
begged them to be seated, and ordered dinner. 

“Alas! my lord,” responded the major-domo, “we had 
nothing worthy of so honorable a company, and we did not 
even attempt to lay the table.” 

“This a pretty affair !” cried the host in* a pretended 


coNsmio. 


752 

fury. Then when the jest had lasted some seconds, 

Well,^'’ said he, ‘‘since men refuse us some refreshments, 
I invoke the regions of Pluto to send something worthy of 
such guests.” So saying, he struck the floor three times, 
which glided to one "side, and odorous flames were visible 
from below. Then to the sound of wild and joyous music, 
a table magnificently decorated rose before the guests. 
“ That is not -so bad,” said the count, lifting the cloth, and 
speaking under the table. “ Only I am surprised- that 
Master Pluto, who knows that there is not even a drop of 
water in the house, has not favored us with a single 
goblet.” 

“ Count Hoditz,” replied a hoarse voice from the depths, 
“ water is scarce in Tartarus; all our streams are dried up 
since the eyes of her Highness the Margravine have pene- 
trated the entrails of the earth. Nevertheless, if you com- 
mand it, we shall send a Danaide to the Styx, and see if 
she can procure some.” 

“ Let her hasten, then,” continued the count; ‘^‘ and see 
that you give her a vessel which will not leak.” 

At this instant a jet of rock water issued from a jasper 
tazza in the center of the table, and continued to play dur- 
ing the rest of the entertainment, sparkling like a sheaf of 
diamonds in the light of the numerous wax tapers. The 
whole was a masterpiece of extravagance and bad taste ; 
and the waters of the Styx and the gifts of Pluto furnished 
the count with opportunities for a thousand stupid jests 
and plays upon words, which his childish eagerness and 
good nature caused to be readily forgiven. The rich re- 
past, during which the guests were waited upon by youths 
and gay shepherdesses, put the Baron de Kreutz in excellent 
spirits. He paid little attention, however, to his amphi- 
tryon^s handsome female slaves. These poor peasant-girls 
were at once the servants, singers, and actresses of the 
count, who was their professor of music, singing, dancing, 
and declamation. Consnelo had had a sample of his de- 
meanor toward them at Passau, and when she thought of 
the glorious lot which this noble lord then offered her, she 
could not help admiring his present easy and respectful 
manner toward her, which betrayed neither surprise nor 
confusion. She knew that matters would assume an en- 
tirely different aspect on the arrival of the margravine the 
ensuing day,* and that then she would have to dine with 


CONSUELO. 


753 


the maestro in her own apartment, and would no longer 
have the honor of being admitted to the table of her high- 
ness. This gave her no concern, althougli she was igno- 
rant of one thing which would have infinitely amused her, 
and that was that she was then supping with a person far 
more illustrious, and who would not for any consideration 
have supped next day with the margravine. 

Baron de Kreutz, who, as we have said, smiled some- 
what coldly on these sylvan nymphs, paid more attention 
to Consuelo, especially when, after having succeeded in 
causing her to break silence, he induced her to speak upon 
music. He was an enlightened and passionate amateur of 
this divine art; at least he spoke of it in a manner which, 
together with the good cheer and warmth of the apart- 
ments, softened the rugged temper of Porpora. 

“It is much to be wished, said he at last to the baron, 
who had just managed to praise his style indirectly without 
naming him, “that the sovereign whom we are going to 
serve, was as good a judge as you 

“Oh replied tlie baron, “public report bespeaks him. 
very enlightened on this subject, and asserts that he has a 
real love for the fine arts.” 

“Are you very sure of that, baron?” returned the 
maestro, who could not, converse without contradicting 
every person on every subject. “For my part, I doubt it 
very much. Kings are always first in every thing, if you 
believe their courtiers; but it often happens that these 
courtiers know much more than they do themselves.” 

“In war, as in science and engineering, the King of 
Prussia knows much more than either of us,” replied the 
lieutenant with zeal; “and as to music, it is very 
certain ” 

“ That you know nothing about it, nor I either,” drily 
interrupted Captain de Kreutz ; “ Master Porpora is abso- 
lute authority on the latter subject.” 

“ As for me,” returned the maestro, “royal dignity has 
never imposed upon me in matters of music ; and when I 
had the honor of giving lessons to the electoral princess of 
Saxony, I did not pass over her false notes any more than 
another’s.” 

“ What !” said the baron, looking at his companion with 
an ironical expression, “do crowned head^ ever make false 
notes ?” 


754 


CONSUELO. 


‘^Just like simple mortals, sir replied Porpora. 

Still I must confess that the electoral princess did not 
long continue to make them with me, and that she had a 
refined and cultivated intellect to second my efforts.” 

So you would graciously pardon a few false notes to 
our Fritz, should he have the impertinence to make them 
in your presence ?” 

“On condition that he would correct them.” 

“But you would not wash your hands of him,” said 
Count Hoditz, smiling. 

“ I would do it, were he to cut off my head,” replied the 
old professor, elevated by the champagne he had drunk. 

Consuelo had been duly informed by the canon that 
Prussia was one huge police-office, where every word, were 
it even spoken on the frontiers, was echoed to the very 
cabinet ; and that no one should say to any Prussian — a 
soldier or official especially — even “How do you do?” 
without first weighing every word. She was not pleased 
therefore to see her master indulge his cynical humor, and 
she endeavored by a little stroke of policy to do away with 
the effect of his imprudence. 

“Even were the King of Prussia not the first musician 
of his time,” she said, “ he might well be permitted to 
despise an art so trivial in comparison with his other ac- 
quirements.” 

She was ignorant, however, that Frederick attached as 
much importance to his flute as to his magazine or his 
philosophy. The Baron de Kreutz assured her that, if his 
majesty considered music worthy of notice, he would cer- 
tainly give it his most serious study and attention. 

“ Pshaw !” said Porpora, becoming' still more animated; 
— “ time and labor do nothing for those who are not en- 
dowed with the sacred fire. Genius and fortune do not go 
hand in hand ; and it is easier to gain battles and pension 
off men of letters, than to borrow the celestial fire of the 
muses. Baron Frederick Trenck informed us that when 
his Prussian majesty missed the time, he took it from his 
courtiers ; but that plan would not go down with me !” 

“ Did Baron Frederick Trenck say that ?” exclaimed 
Baron Kreutz, his eyes gleaming with sudden and uncon- 
trollable anger. “ Weil, well 1” continued he, assuming, 
by a violent effort, an air of forced tranquillity, “ the poor 
devil has done with jesting by this time, for he is confined 
in the fortress of Glatz for the rest of his days,” 


C0N8UEL0. 


755 

^"Indeed V' exclaimed Porpora : ^'and what has he done 
then 

“ It is a secret of state/’ replied the baron ; but there 
is every reason to believe that he has betrayed the confi- 
dence of his master.” 

"" Yes/’ added the lieutenant, in selling to A^ustria the 
plans of the fortifications of Prussia, his native country.” 

Oh, it is impossible !” exclaimed Consuelo, turning 
pale ; for, notwitlistanding her increasing caution, she 
was not able to repress this exclamation of surprise and 
grief. 

It is impossible ! — it is false !” exclaimed the indig- 
nant Porpora ; they who have thus imposed on the King 
of Prussia lie in their teeth !” 

I presume that you do not mean indirectly to charge 
us with falsehood ?” said the lieutenant, growing pale in 
his turn. 

It would be indeed a diseased susceptibility which could 
interpret thus what has been said,” replied Baron Kreutz, 
looking fixedly, and even sternly, at his companion. 
‘‘ What does it concern us that Master Porpora manifests 
some heat in his friendship for this young man ?” 

Yes, I would do so, even in presence of the king him- 
self !” exclaimed Porpora. I would tell the king to his 
face that he had been deceived — that it was wrong of him 
to believe it — and that Frederick Trenck was a noble, an 
admirable young man, incapable of anything so infamous 
as ” 

I fancy, dear master,” interrupted Consuelo, growing 
more and more uneasy at the expression of Baron de 
Kreutz’s countenance, ‘‘ that when you have the honor to 
approach the King of Prussia’s presence, it will not be after 
dinner ; and I am well assured that music is the only sub- 
ject on which you will venture to address him.” 

Mademoiselle appears singularly prudent,” replied the 
baron. It would seem, however, that she was not unac- 
quainted with Baron Frederick at Vienna ?” 

“^I, sir?” said Consuelo, with assumed indifference ; 
hardly know him.” 

‘^But,” continued the baron, with a piercing look, if 
the king in person were to inquire of you by chance what 
you thought of this alleged treason ?” 

^^Sir,” answered Consuelo, calmly though modestly 


756 


CONSUELO. 


meeting his inquisitorial gaze,- ‘*1 should reply that I did 
not believe in treason, unable as I am to understand what 
it means. 

A noble sentiment, signora V said the baron, whose 
face lighted up all at once, ^^and spoken from an upright 
soul V’ 

He turned the conversation on other subjects, and 
charmed the guests by his grace and talent. During the 
rest of the meal he displayed in addressing Consuelo a 
kindness and confidence of manner which he had not pre- 
viously manifested toward her. 

At the close of the dessert, a figure, entirely clothed in 
white and closely veiled, presented itself before the guests, 
saying: Folloiv 7ne!^^ Consuelo, still condemned to play 

the part of the margravine, rose first, and, followed by the 
other guests, mounted the great staircase of the castle, to 
which there was access from the door at the end of the sa- 
loon. The shadow, on reaching the top of the stairs, 
pushed open another door, and they found themselves al- 
most in total darkness, in an ancient gallery at the ex- 
tremity of which appeared a faint gleam. Toward this light 
they directed their steps to the sound of solemn music, 
which was supposed to be performed by inhabitants of an- 
other world. 

Per Bacco!” exclaimed Porpora with ironical enthu- 
siasm ; his excellency the count denies us nothing. First 
we had nautical, then Turkish, then savage, then Chinese, 
then Lilliputian, and other extraordinary species of music; 
but this surpasses all the rest, and may be well termed the 
music of the other world.” 

And you are not at the end yet!” replied the count, en- 
chanted at this euloginm. 

We ought to be prepared for everything on the part of 
your excellency,” said the Baron de Kreutz, with the same 
irony as the professor; though after this I know not in 
truth what we can hope for better.” 

At the end of the gallery the ghost struck a blow upon a 
kind of tom-tom, which gave forth a sullen sound, and a 
vast curtain drawing aside disclosed to view the body of 
the theater decorated and illuminated as it was to be on 
the following day. I shall not give a description of it, 
though it were an inviting occasion for flowery verse or 
prose. 


CONStTELO. 


%1 


The curtain rose; the scene represented Olympus — 
neither more nor less. The goddesses were busy disputing 
tlie heart of the shepherd Paris, and the competition of the 
three principal divinities constituted the main subject of 
the piece. It was written in Italian, on hearing which 
Porpora whispered to Oonsuelo : ‘‘ The Hottentot, the 
Chinese and the Lilliputian were nothing; here is the Iro- 
quois at last.” Verses and music — all were the counPs 
manufacture. The actors and actresses were quite worthy 
of their parts. After half an hour of forced metaphors 
and trifling conceits upon the absence of a divinity more 
charming and more powerful than all the others, but who 
disdained to compete for the prize of beauty, Paris having 
decided in favor of Venus, the latter took the apple, and 
descending from the stage by a flight of steps, came to lay 
it at the feet of the margravine, declaring herself unworthy 
to keep it, and apologizing for having aspired to it before 
her. It was Oonsuelo who was to perform this character of 
Venus, and as it was the most important (including as it 
did a cavatina of great effect). Count Hoditz, not willing to 
intrust it to any of his coryphees, undertook to fill it him- 
self, as wfell to carry on the rehearsal as to make Oonsuelo 
feel the spirit, the intention, the wit and the beauty of the 
part. He was so ridiculous while gravely personating 
Venus and singing with emphasis the insipid airs pilfered 
from all the bad operas then in fashion, and badly stitched 
together, out of which he pretended to have composed a 
score — that no one could keep his countenance. He was 
too much excited by the task of scolding his troop, and too 
much inflamed by the divine expression he gave to his act- 
ing and singing, to perceive the gaiety of the audience. 
They applauded him to the skies, and Porpora, who had 
placed himself at the head of the orchestra, and who was 
obliged to stop his ears secretly from time to time, declared 
that all was sublime — poem, score, voices, instruments, and 
the temporary Venus above all! 

It was agreed that Consuelo and he should read this 
masterpiece attentively together that very evening and the 
next morning. It was neither very long nor very difficult 
to learn, and they flattered themselves that on the next 
evening they would have mastered it completely. They 
afterward visited the ball-room, which was not yet ready, 
because the dances were not to take place till the second 


758 


aomuP^Lo. 


day after, the f^te being intended to last two days, and to 
offer an uninterrupted succession of diversified entertain- 
ments. 

It was now ten o’clock. The weather was serene and the 
moon shone brilliantly. The two Prussian officers insisted 
on recrossing the frontier that very evening, alleging in ex- 
cuse a superior order which forbade their passing the night 
in a foreign country. The count was therefore obliged to 
yield, and having given orders to get their horses ready, he 
insisted on their accompanying him to drink the stirrup- 
cup — that is to say, to partake of coffee and excellent 
liquors in an elegant boudoir, whither Consuelo thought it 
best not to follow them. She took leave of them, therefore, 
and after advising Porpora in a low voice to be more 
guarded than he had been during supper, proceeded 
toward her apartment, which was in another wing of the 
chateau. 

But she soon lost her way in the windings of that vast 
labyrinth, and at last found herself in a sort of cloister, 
where, to complete her dismay, a current of air extin- 
guished her taper. Fearful of losing her way still far- 
ther, and of falling through one of those surpnse trap- 
doors, with which the mansion was filled, she endeavored 
to return, feeling her way until she could reach the lighted 
part of the building. In the confusion caused by the nu- 
merous preparations for committing absurdities, the com- 
forts of that sumptuous dwelling were entirely neglected. 
There were savages, ghosts, gods, hermits, nymphs, laugh- 
ter and plays, but not a domestic to provide a torch, nor a 
being in his senses to guide her. 

Meantime she heard a person approach, who seemed to 
walk cautiously and purposely keep in the shade, which 
did not inspire her with sufficient confidence to call out 
and pronounce her name, more particularly as it was the 
heavy step and loud breathing of a man. A little 
agitated, she advanced, keeping close by the wall, when 
she heard a door open not far off, and the light of the 
moon gleaming through the aperture fell upon the lofty 
figure and brilliant costume of Karl. 

She hastened to call him by his name. 

Is it you, signora?” said he, in an altered voice. Ah! I 
have been endeavoring for some hours to speak to you, 
and perhaps it is now too late.” 


CONSUELO. 759 

What have you to say to me, my good Karl ? and 
whence this emotion?” 

Let us leave this corridor, signora; I must speak to 
you in some place where no one can overhear us.” 

Consuelo followed Karl, and found herself in the open 
air on the summit of one of the turrets attached to an 
angle of the mansion. 

“ Signora,” said the deserter, in a cautious tone, for he 
had only arrived that morning at Roswald, and was almost 
as ignorant of the localities as Consuelo herself — have 
you said nothing to-day that could excite the anger of the 
King of Prussia, and which you might afterward have 
occasion to regret at Berlin, if the king were informed 
of it?” 

No, Karl, nothing of the kind. I was aware that 
every Prussian whom one does not know, is a dangerous 
companion, and I watched every word I uttered.” 

Ah! I am so glad to hear you say so, for I was uneasy 
about you. Two or three times I endeavored to speak to 
you in the ship, when you were sailing on the lake. I was 
one of the pirates that pretended to board your vessel, but 
I was so disguised that you could not know me. 1 stared 
and signed at you, but you took no notice of me, and I 
could not slip in a single word. That officer never left 
you. During the whole time you continued on the 
water, he was not once from your side. One would have 
said he guessed you were a charmed buckler to him, and 
that he hid behind you, lest a ball should perchance have 
got into one of our harmless guns.” 

What say you, Karl? I do not understand. What 
officer? I do not know what you mean.” 

‘‘There is no need to tell you; you will know soon 
enough. Are you not going to Berlin?” 

“And why make a secret of it in the meantime?” 

“Because it is a terrible one> and I must keep it for 
another hour.” 

“You seem uneasy, Karl — what is passing in your 
mind?” 

“ Oh! great deeds! hell burns in my heart!” 

“Hell? — one would say that you are meditating some 
dreadful crime.” 

“ Perhaps so.” 

“ In that case you must speak; you must not keep a 


760 


CONSUELO. 


secret from me, Karl. You have promised me unhesi- 
tating submission.” 

Ah! signora, what is that you say ? It is true I owe 
you more than life; you did what you could to save my 
wife and child — but they perished and they must be 
revenged !” 

‘^Karl, in the name of your wife and child who pray for 
you in heaven, I implore you to speak. You are pondering 
on some mad and vengeful deed — the sight of these 
Prussians distracts you.” 

'^Yes, they make me mad — furious. But no; I am 
calm as a saint. It is heaven, signora, not hell, which 
leads me on. Come! the hour is at hand; adieu, signora! 
most probably I shall never see you more. All I ask is 
when you pass through Prague to pay for a mass for me at 
the chapel of St. John Kepomuck, one among the greatest 
of the patron saints of Bohemia.” 

“Karl, you must speak — you must confess the wicked 
thoughts which torment you, or I will never pray for you. 
On the contrary, I will invoke on your head the male- 
diction of your wife and child, now angels in the bosom of 
the merciful Jesus. How do you expect to be forgiven in 
heaven if you do not forgive upon earth? You have a 
carbine under your cloak, Karl, and you watch to see 
these Prussians leave the castle.” 

“No, not here,” said Karl, all trembling and agitated; 
“I would not shed blood in my master^s dwelling, nor 
before you, my sweet young lady; but yonder, do yoii see, 
there is a mountain pass — I know it well, for I was there 
when they passed this morning — but I was there by chance 
— I was unarmed, and besides I did not at first know that 
it was he! By and by, however, he will pass, and I — I 
will be there! I can soon reach it by crossing the park, 
and shall get there before him though he be on horseback; and 
as you have said, signora, I have a carbine, a right good 
carbine, and in it a ball for his heart. It has been there 
for some time, for I was in earnest when I acted the 
pirate. I had a good chance, and leveled at him ten 
times, but you were always there, and I would not fire. 
By and by you will not be there, and he will not be able 
to skulk behind you like a. coward as he is — for he is a 
coward, as I well know. I have seen him grow pale and 
turn his back on the field of battle. One day when he 


CONSUKLO. 


761 


made us advance against my countrymen, against my 
brethren of Bohemia, oh, what horror I felt I for I am 
Bohemian in heart and soul, and that is a deed never to 
be forgiven. But if I be a poor peasant, having never 
learned to handle aught but the hatchet in my native 
forests, he has made me, thanks to his corporals, a Prussian 
soldier, and I know how to take an aim.^'’ 

‘^Karl! Karl! be silent — you rave! You do not know 
this man, I am sure. He is called the Baron de Kreutz; 
I wager you did not know his name before. You must 
mistake him for some one else. He is no recruiter; he 
never did you any harm.^^ 

It is not the Baron de Kreutz ; no, signora, I knew 
him well. I have seen him a hundred times on parade; he is 
the grand master of men-stealers, and destroyers of fami- 
lies; he is the scourge of Bohemia; he is my enemy. He 
is the enemy of our church, our religion, and of all our 
saints. It is he who profaned by his impious laughter the 
statue of St. John Nepomuck on the bridge of Prague. 
It is he who stole from the castle of Prague the drum 
covered with the skin of John Ziska, the greatest warrior 
of his time — that which was at once the safeguard, the 
honor, and the object of respect of the whole country! 
Oh! no, I am not mistaken, and I know him Well! Be- 
sides St. Wenceslas just now appeared to me as I prayed 
in the chapel ; I saw him as plainly as I see you, signora, 
and he said to me, ^It is he, strike him to the heart!^ I 
have sworn before the Holy Virgin, on the tomb of my 
wife, and I must keep my oath. Ah! signora, look! there 
is his horse at the door! It was that I waited for. I go 
to my post — pray for me; sooner or later my life must pay 
the penalty ; but it matters little so that God saves my 
soul!” 

^^Karl!” exclaimed Consuelo, inspired with superhuman 
strength, I believed you generous, sensible, pious, but 
now I see that you are impious, base, and cowardly. 
Whoever this man may be whom you would assassinate, I 
forbid you to follow^ or to harm him. It is the enemy of 
man who has taken the form of a saint to pervert your 
reason; and Heaven permits you to fall into his snares for 
having sworn an impious oath. You are ungrateful and a 
coward, I tell you; for you no longer think about your 
master, who has loaded you with favors, who will be ac- 


762 


C0N8UBL0. 


cused for your crime, and who, good and generous as he 
is, will suffer for it with his life. Go, hide yourself, Karl, 
you are not worthy of the light. Eepent, for merely to 
harbor such a thought is a deadly crime. Stay, at this 
moment I see your wife, who weeps beside you, and who 
vainly tries to hold in her embrace your good angel, ready 
to abandon you to the wicked one forever.” 

‘^My wife! my wife!” exclaimed Karl wildly, now com- 
pletely vanquished ; I see her not. My wife, if you be 
there, speak to me — let me see you once again ere I die!” 

You cannot see her, for crime is in your heart, and 
darkness seals your eyelids. Down on your knees ! you 
may yet redeem your soul. Give me this carbine, which 
stains your hands, and offer up an humble and contrite 
prayer.” 

Thus saying, Consuelo took from his hands the car- 
bine, which he did not seek to retain, and hastened from 
the deserter, who, as she disappeared, fell on his knees 
and burst into tears. She left the turret in order to hide 
the weapon instantly in some other spot. She felt ex- 
hausted with the efforts she had made to impress the im- 
agination of the fanatic and influence his mind by means 
of the chimeras which governed him ; for time pressed, 
and she had no leisure to address him with arguments 
more humane and enlightened. She uttered what first oc- 
curred to her mind, inspired perhaps with somewhat of 
sympathy for the unhappy man, whom she wished to serve 
at all risks from an act of insanity, and whom she loaded 
with feigned reproaches while she really deplored a mad- 
ness which he was unable to control. 

She hastened to lay aside the fatal piece, purposing to 
return and keep him on the turret till the Prussians were 
far away, when, just as she opened the door which com- 
municated with the corridor, she met the Baron de Kreutz 
face to face. He was on his way to his apartment, in 
order to procure his pistols and his cloak. Consuelo had 
only time to let the weapon fall in the angle behind the 
door and to rush into the corridor, closing the door between 
herself and Karl, lest the sight of the enemy might light 
up all his fury afresh. 

This hurried movement, and the agitation with which 
she supported herself against the door, as if she were on 
the point of fainting, did not escape the penetrating gaze 


C0N8UEL0. 


':g3 

of Baron de Kreutz. He carried a taper, and stopped be- 
fore her, smiling. His countenance was perfectly calm, 
yet Consuelo thought she saw his hand tremble and the 
flame of the torch oscillate very sensibly. The lieutenant 
was behind him, pale as death, and with his sword drawn. 
These circumstances, as well as the certainty she acquired 
a little later that a window of the apartment which the 
baron had occupied opened upon the turret, convinced 
Consuelo afterward that the two Prussians had not lost a 
word of her conversation with Karl. Nevertheless the 
baron saluted her with a courteous and tranquil air, and 
as the agitation she felt at being placed in such a situation 
made her forget to return his salutation and deprived her 
of the power of saying a single word, Kreutz, after having 
examined her for an instant with a look that expressed rather 
interest than surprise, said to her in a gentle voice, taking 
her hand: ‘‘Come, my child, recover yourself. You seem 
very much agitated. We must have frightened you in 
passing suddenly before this door at the moment you 
opened it, but be assured we are your servants and your 
friends. I hope we shall see you again at Berlin, where 
perhaps we can be of some use to you.^^ 

The baron partly drew Consuelo’s hand toward him, as 
if his flrst impulse had been to carry it to his lips; but he 
contented himself with pressing it gently, saluted her a 
second time, and withdrew, followed by his lieutenant, 
who did not seem even to see Consuelo, so much was he 
bewildered and agitated. His countenance confirmed the 
young girl in the opinion that he was aware of the danger 
which had threatened his master. 

But who was this man, the responsibility for whose 
safety weighed so heavily upon another’s shoulders, and 
whose destruction had seemed to Karl so complete and 
so intoxicating a revenge? Consuelo returned to the ter- 
race to draw this secret from him, at the same time that 
she continued to watch him; but she found that he had 
fainted, and, not able to raise his huge frame, she de- 
scended the stairs and called the other domestics to come 
to his assistance. “Ah! it is nothing,” said they as they 
hastened toward the place she pointed out; “he has merely 
drunk a little too much hydromel this evening and we will 
carry him to his bed.” Consuelo longed to accompany them, 
as she feared Karl might betray his secret on returning to 


. 764 


C0N8VEL0, 


consciousness; but she was prevented by Count Hoditz, 
who was passing, and who took her arm, congratulating 
himself that she had not yet retired and that he could 
show her a new spectacle. She was obliged to follow him 
to the porch, and from thence she saw, relieved against 
the sky on a lofty hill, and precisely in the direction which 
Karl had pointed out as the one he intended to take, 
an immense arch blazing with light, in the midst of which 
some characters could be distinguished formed of colored 
lamps. 

Yes,” said she, with an absent air, ^^that is a splendid 
illumination.” 

‘^It is a delicate attention, a respectful adieu, to the 
guest who has just left us,” he replied; he will pass in a 
quarter of an hour by the foot of the hill, through a deep 
gorge which we do not discern from this, where he will 
find as by enchantment this triumphal arch raised over his 
head.” 

My lord,” exclaimed Consuelo, rousing herself from her 
reverie, ‘^who is this individual who has just now quitted 
us?” 

You shall know hereafter, my child.” 

‘^If it be not right to ask, I am silent; meantime I sus- 
pect his real name is not Baron de Kreutz.” 

was not deceived for an instant,” replied Hoditz, who 
in this matter prided himself no little on his penetration. 
^'However, I religiously respected his incognito; I know it 
is a fancy of his, and that he is offended if you do not take 
him for what beseems. You saw that I treated him mereiv 

as a simple officer and nevertheless ” The count was 

dying to speak, but etiquette forbade him to utter a name 
apparently so sacred. He adopted a middle course, and 
presenting a glass to Consuelo, ‘^Look!” said he, ‘Miow 
well yonder arch has succeeded. It is upward of two miles 
off, and yet with this excellent glass you will be able to read 
the inscription on the summit. The letters are twenty 
feet high, although they are hardly perceptible to the 
naked eye. Now look attentively!” 

Consuelo looked, and easily deciphered this inscription, 
which revealed the secret: 

Long live Frederick the Great .'” 

^'Ah! my lord,” she exclaimed, much agitated, ^Hhere 
is great danger in such an exalted personage traveling thus, 
and it is even more dangerous to receive him.” 


CONSUELO. 765 

I do not understand you/’ said the count ; we are 
now at peace; no one in all the empire would think of in- 
juring him, and it could disparage no one’s patriotism to 
treat with honor a guest such as he.” 

Oonsuelo remained plunged in thought. Hoditz roused 
her from her reverie by saying that lie had an humble 
request to make; that he feared indeed to take advantage 
of her kindness, but the matter was so important that he 
was obliged to importune her. The request I have to 
make,” said he, with a grave and mysterious air, is, that 
you will kindly perform the part of the Shade.” 

‘‘What Shade?” asked Oonsuelo, whose thoughts were 
solely occupied with Frederick and the occurrences of the 
evening. 

“ The Shade which comes at the desert to seek the mar- 
gravine and her guests, in order to lead them through 
Tartarus, where I have placed the music of the dead, and 
conduct them to the theater where Olympus is to receive 
them. Venus does not immediately appear, and you will 
have time to throw aside the drapery of woe and display 
the brilliant costume of the queen of love beneath, that is 
to say, rose-colored satin, with clasps and tinsels of silver 
mounted in gold looping up the dress, and powdered hair, 
with pearls, feathers, and roses. An elegant and most 
recherche toilet, as you shall see. Come! you consent; for 
the part requires a dignified carriage, and not one of my 
liltle actresses would have the courage to say to her high- 
ness, in a tone sufficiently respectful and imperious — 
‘Folloio meJ It a phrase not easy to say, and I think it 
requires genius to give it the desired effect. AVhat think 
you?” 

“ Oh, it is admirable; and I shall perform the Shade 
with all my heart,” replied Oonsuelo, smiling. 

“ Ah, you are an angel; an angel in truth!” exclaimed 
the count, kissing her hand. 

But alas! the f4te, this brilliant fete, this dream, which 
the count had cherished during the whole winter, and for 
which he had taken three journeys into Moravia to super- 
intend the preparations, this fete so anxiously expected, 
was destined, like the stern and fatal vengeance of Karl, 
to vanish into thin air! 

The following day every thing was in readiness. The 
retainers of Roswald were under arms. Nymphs, genii, 


766 


• GONSUELO. 


savages, dwarfs, giants, mandarins, and shades, waited, 
shivering at their posts, for the signal to commence their 
evolutions. The roads leading to the castle were cleared 
of snow and strewn with moss and violets, numerous guests 
from the neighboring castles, and even distant towns, 
formed a respectable assemblage — when, alas! an unex- 
pected calamity upset every thing. A courier dashing up 
at full gallop, brought the intelligence that the margra- 
vine^s carriage had been overturned, that her highness had 
two ribsbrofcn, and was forced to alight at Olmutz, where 
the count was to join her. The crowd dispersed. The 
count, followed by Karl, who had now regained his reason, 
mounted the best of his horses, and set off in haste, after 
having said a few words to his major-domo. 

The Pleasures, the Brooks, the Hours, and the Rivers 
hastily put on their furred boots and woolen dresses; and 
together with the Chinese, the Pirates, the Druids, and 
the Anthropophagi returned pell-mell to their labor in’ the 
fields. The guests re-entered their carriages, and the 
same berlin which had brought Porpora and his pupil was 
again placed at their disposal. The major-domo, conform- 
ably to the orders he had received, handed them the sum 
agreed upon, and compelled them to accept it, although 
they had only half earned it. They set out the same day 
for Prague, the professor enchanted at being freed from 
the cosmopolitan music and the polyglot cantatas of his 
host, and Consuelo directing many a sorrowful look in the 
direction of Silesia, and grieved to the heart at being 
obliged to turn her back on the captive of Glatz without a 
hope of rescuing him from his unhappy fate. 

That same day the Baron de Kreutz, who had passed the 
night in a village not far from the Moravian frontier, and 
who had departed again at dawn in a huge traveling 
coach, escorted by his pages on horseback and followed by 
a berlin which carried his secretary and his treasure chest, 
said to his lieutenant, or rather his aide-de-camp, the 
Baron of Buddenbrock, as they approached the city of 
Neisse (and it must be remarked that, dissatisfied with his 
awkwardness the day before, this was the first time he had 
spoken to him since their departure from Roswald) — 
"‘What was that illumination which I perceived at a dis- 
tance upon the hill we must have passed, if we had skirted 
the park of that Count Hoditz?’^ 


GONSUELO. 767 

^^Sire/^ replied Buddenbrock, trembling, saw no 
illumination.'^ 

Yon were in the wrong, then. A man who accompanies 
me ought to see everything. 

Your majesty must forgive me, but the frightful state 
of agitation into which I was thrown by that wretch’s res- 
olution ” 

“You do not know what you are saying! That man 
was a fanatic, an unhappy Catholic devotee, exasperated 
by the sermons which the Bohemian clergy preached 
against me during the war, and driven moreover to ex- 
tremity by some personal misfortune. He must be some 
peasant whom my recruiters have carried off; one of those 
deserters whom we sometimes recapture in spite of all their 
precautions ” 

“Your majesty may rely upon it that to-morrow this 
man shall be retaken and brought before you.” 

“You have given orders then to have him carried off 
from Count Hoditz?” 

“Not yet, sire; but as soon as I arrive at Neisse, I will 
despatch four skillful and determined men ” 

“ I forbid you to do so; on the contrary, you will obtain 
information respecting the man, and if his family have 
fallen victims to the war, as he seemed to indicate in his 
incoherent talk, you will see that he be paid the sum of one 
thousand rix-dollars, and you will have him pointed out to 
the recruiters of Silesia that he be left forever undisturbed. 
You understand me? His name is Karl, he is very tall, 
he is a Bohemian, and in the service of Count Hoditz; 
that is enough to enable you to identify him and to pro- 
cure information respecting his family and condition.” 

“Your majesty shall be obeyed.” 

“ I hope so, indeed! What do you think of that pp- 
fessor of music?” 

Master Porpora? He seemed to me foolish, self-satis- 
fied, and exceedingly ill-tempered.” 

“ And I tell you that he is a man of superior acquire- 
ments, full of wit, and a most amusing irony. When he 
arrives with his pupil at the frontier of Prussia, you will 
send a comfortable carriage to meet him.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

“And you are to hand him into it alone; alone, you un- 
derstand? but, at the same time, you will treat him with 
every respect,” 


768 


GONSUELO. 


Yes, sire.” 

And afterward?” 

‘^Afterward your maiesty means he shall be carried to 
Berlin?” 

You have not common sense to-day. I mean that he 
shall be carried back to Dresden, and from thence to 
Prague, if he desire it, or even to Vienna, if such be his 
wish; all at my expense. Since I have taken so worthy a 
man from his occupations, I ought to replace him in his 
former position without the change costing him any thing. 
But 1 do not wish him to place a foot in my kingdom. He 
has too much wit for us.” 

What does your majesty command respecting the can- 
tatrice?” 

‘‘ That she be conducted under escort, whether willing 
or unwilling, to Sans Souci, and that an apartment be 
prepared for her in the chateau.” 

^‘In the chateau, sire?” 

Yes! are you deaf? the apartment of the Barberini.” 

^^And the Barberini, sire — what shall we do with her?” 

The Barberini is no longer at Berlin. She has left 
that. Did you not know it?” 

'^No, sire.” 

‘‘What do you know then? And as soon as the girl has 
arrived, I am to be notified of the fact, at whatever hour of 
the day or night it may happen. Do you understand what 
I have said? The following are the first orders you are to 
have inscribed upon register number 1 of the clerk of my 
treasury: the compensation to Karl, the sending back of 
Porpora, the succession of the Porporina to the honors 
and emoluments of the Barberini. Ha! here we are at the 
gates of the city. Kesume your good humor, Budden- 
brock, and endeavor to be a little less stupid the next time 
I take a fancy to travel incognito with you.” 


CONSUELO. 


769 


CHAPTER CIV. 

The cold was intense when Porpora and Consuelo ar- 
rived at Prague, as night was closing in. A brilliant moon 
illumined the ancient city, which preserved in its aspect 
the religious and warlike character of its history. Our 
travelers entered it by the gate called Rosthor, and passing 
through that portion of it which is on the right bank of the 
Moldaw they reached the middle of the bridge without 
accident. But there the carriage received a heavy shock, 
and stopped suddenly. Holy Virgin!^’ cried the postil- 
ion, my horse has fallen before the statue! it is a bad 
omen! May Saint John Nepomuck help us!” 

Consuelo, seeing that the shaft-horse was entangled in 
the traces, and that the postilion would require some time 
to raise him and readjust the harness, of which several 
buckles had been broken by the fall, proposed to her 
master to alight in order to warm themselves by a little 
exercise. The maestro having consented, Consuelo ap- 
proached the parapet in order to examine the localities 
around. From the spot on which she stood, the two dis- 
tinct cities of which Prague is composed — one called the 
neiu, which was built by the Emperor Charles IV in 1348, 
and the 6ther which ascends to the remotest antiquity, both 
constructed in the form of amphitheaters — looked like two 
black mountains of buildings from which ascended here 
and there the lofty spires of the antique churches and the 
somber battlements of the fortifications. The Moldaw 
flowed dark and rapid beneath the bridge, which was of 
the simplest construction, and which had been the theater 
of so many tragical events in the history of Bohemia; and 
the rays of the moon, which silvered the projecting battle- 
ments, streamed full on the head of the revered statue. 
Consuelo examined long the features of the holy doctor, 
who seemed to fix a melancholy gaze on the dark and 
flowing waves. 

The legend of Saint Nepomuck is a holy and touching 
story, and his name is venerated by every one who esteems 
independence and loyalty. Confessor to the empress Jane 
he refused to betray the secrets of her confession, and the 
drunkard Wenceslas, eager to discover his wife’s secret 
thoughts but unable to draw any thing from the illustrious 


m 


CONStlELO, 


doctor, had him drowned under the bridge of Prague. 
The tradition relates that moment when he disap- 

peared beneath the waves, five brilliant stars glittered upon 
the scarcely closed gulf, as if the martyr had allowed his 
crown to float for an instant upon the waters. In record 
of this miracle, five stars of metal have been inlaid in the 
stone of the balustrade, at the very spot from which 
Nepomuck was hurled. 

liosmunda, who was very devout, had preserved a tender 
recollection of the legend of John Nepomuck; and in the 
enumeration of the saints whom every evening she taught 
her child to call upon with lisping accents, she had never 
forgotten that one, the special patron of travelers, and of 
people in danger, and above all, the guardian of a good 
reputation. Consuelo therefore recalled at this instant 
the prayer which she formerly addressed to the apostle of 
purity, and struck by the sight of the place which had wit- 
nessed his tragical end, she knelt instinctively among the 
devotees who at that epoch still paid, each hour of the day 
and night, an assiduous court to the image of the saint. 
They were composed principally of poor women, pilgrims, 
and aged beggars, with perhaps a few Zingari, children of 
the mandoline and proprietors of the highway. Their 
piety did not absorb them so much as to make them forget 
to hold out their hands as she passed. She gave them 
liberal alms, happy to recall the time when she was neither 
better clad nor prouder than they. Her generosity affected 
them so much that they consulted together in a low voice, 
and then charged one of their number to tell her that they 
were going to sing one of the ancient hymns in honor of 
the blessed Nepomuck, that the saint might avert the bad 
omen which had stopped their progress. According to 
them, the music and the words dated so far back as the 
time of Wenceslas the drunkard: 

“ Suspice quas dedimus, Johannes beate, 

Tibi preces supplices, noster advocate. 

Fieri dum vivimus, ne sinas infames, 

Et nostros post obitum ccelis infer manes.” 

Porpora, who took pleasure in listening to them, was of 
opinion that the hymn could not be more than a century 
old, but a second which he heard, seemed a malediction 


CONSUhJUK 


771 


addressed to Weoceslas by his contemporaries, and com- 
menced thus: 


“Saevus, piger imperator, 

Malorum clarus patrator, etc.” 

Although the crimes of Wenceslas were of no great im- 
portance, the poor Bohemians seemed to take a pleasure in 
eternally cursing in the person of this tyrant the abhorred 
title of imperatoi' which had become synonomoiis in their 
eyes with that of Foreigner. An Austrian sentinel 
guarded each of the gates placed at the entrances of the 
bridge. It was their duty to march unceasingly from 
either end and meet before the statue, when they turned 
their backs and resumed their monotonous walk. Tliey 
heard the Canticles, but as they were not as well versed in 
church Latin as the devout inhabitants of Prague, they 
doubtless fancied they were listening to a hymn in praise 
of Francis of Lorraine, the husband of Maria Theresa. 

Listening to these delightful airs by the light of the 
moon in one of the most romantic situations in the world, 
Consuelo felt herself overwhelmed with melancholy. Her 
journey so far had been gay and happy, and by a natural 
reaction she fell all at once* into the opposite extreme. 
The postilion, who set about repairing his harness with 
true German phlegm, kept on repeating so constantly, 

Ila! this is bad business, that poor Consuelo at last be- 
came affected by his evil presages. Every painful emotion, 
every prolonged reverie, recalled AlberPs image. At that 
moment she recollected that Albert, hearing the canoness 
one evening invoke St. Nepomuck, the guardian of good 
reputation, aloud in her prayer, had said to her: That is 
all very well in you, aunt, who have taken the i^recaution 
to insure yours by an exemplary life; but I have often seen 
souls stained by vice call to their aid the miracles of this 
saint, in order the better to conceal from men their secret 
iniquities. Thus it is that devout practices serve quite as 
often to cloak the grossest hypocrisy as to sustain and for- 
tify innocence,^'’ . At that instant, as Consuelo thought, she 
heard Albert's voice sounding at her ear in the evening 
breeze and in the dusk of the Moldaw's gloomy waves. 
She asked herself what he would think of her, he who per- 
haps believed her already perverted, if he could see her 


aONSUELO. 


m 

prostrate before tlmt image; and, almost terrified, she was 
rising to retire, when Porpora said to her: Come, let ns 
get into the carriage again; every thing is repaired.” 

She followed him and was just entering the carriage, 
when a cavalier, heavily mounted on a horse still heavier 
than his rider, stopped abruptly, alighted, and approach- 
ing gazed at her with a tranquil curiosity, which appeared 
to her excessively impertinent. What are you doing 
there, sir ?” said Porpora, pushing him back; ^Madies are 
not to be stared at so closely. It may be the custom in 
Prague, but I warn you I am not inclined to submit 
to it.” 

The stout man drew his chin out of the furs which en- 
veloped it, and still holding his horse by the bridle, replied 
to Porpora in Bohemian, without perceiving that the latter 
did not understand a word of what he said; but Consuelo, 
struck by his voice, and leaning forward to look at his 
features by the moonlight, cried, interposing between him 
and Porpora: ^‘Do I indeed seethe Baron of Rudolstadt?” 

Yes, it is I, signora !” replied Baron Frederick; ^Mt is 
I, the brother of Christian, the uncle of Albert; oh ! it is 
indeed I. And it is in truth you also ?” added he, utter- 
ing a deep sigh. 

Consuelo was struck by his dejected air and his cold 
greeting. He who had always been the mirror of chivalry, 
did not so much as kiss her hand, or touch his furred cap, 
hut contented himself with repeating with a half-stupid, 
half-terrified air: 

Yes, it is even so — it is indeed you.” 

What news from Riesenburg ?” said Consuelo with 
emotion. 

Yes, signora, I long to tell it to yon.” 

^ "‘Well, then, baron, speak; tell me about Count Chris- 
tian, about the canoness, and ” 

“Yes, I shall tell you all,” replied the baron, more and 
more dejected. 

“And Count Albert ?” resumed Consuelo, terrified at 
the expression of his countenance. 

“Yes, oh! yes, Albert — yes — I would speak of him.” 

But he said not a word, and to all the questions of Con- 
suelo he remained as dumb and motionless as the statue of 
St. Nepomuck. 

Porpora began to' grow impatient. He was cold and 


CONSUELO. 


773 


longed to reach some shelter. Moreover, this meeting, 
which was so well calculated to make a deep impression on 
Consuelo, annoyed him hugely. 

‘‘My lord baron,” said he, “we shall have the honor 
of paying our respects to you to-morrow, but permit us at 
present to sup and warm ourselves. That is more impor- 
tant than compliments,” he added, pressing into the car- 
riage, and pushing Consuelo unwillingly in before him. 

“But, my dear friend,” she exclaimed, anxiously, “let 
me ask ” 

“ Let me alone,” he bluntly added. “ This man is mad 
or dead drunk; and we may spend the entire night upon 
the bridge without getting a word of sense from him.” 

Consuelo was a prey to the deepest anxiety. 

“You are pitiless,” said she, as the carriage passed the 
bridge and entered the ancient city. “ Another moment 
and I should have learned what I am more interested in 
than any thing else in the world.” 

“Oh! ho! are we there still?” said the maestro angrily. 
“Is this Albert always running through your head? A 
precious family, forsooth, to judge by this old booby with 
his cap apparently glued to liis head, for he had not even 
the civility to raise it when he saw you.” 

“ It is a family for which, until lately, you expressed the 
highest esteem; so much so that you consigned me to its 
care as to a haven of safety, and enjoined on me the deepest 
respect, love, and affection for all the members of it.” 

“ The last injunction vou have obeyed to the letter, 
I see.” 

Consuelo was about to reply, but remained silent when 
she saw the baron mount his horse with the intention ap- 
parently of following the carriage. When she alighted she 
found the old noble at the entrance, holding out his hand 
to assist her and doing the honors of his house; for it was 
there and not at the inn that he had directed the postilion 
to stop. Porpora in vain refused his hospitality; he was 
not to be put off, and Consuelo, who burned to clear up 
her melancholy presentiment, hastened to accept his atten- 
tions, and proceeded with him into the saloon, where a 
huge fire and an excellent ^upper awaited them. 

“ You perceive, signora,” said the baron, “that I calcu- 
lated on your arrival.” 

“ That greatly surprises me,” replied Consuelo, “for we 


m 


CONSUELO. 


mentioned it to no one, and we did not eveir expect to get 
here before to-morrow.” 

You are not more astonished than I am,” said the 
baron, with a disconsolate air. 

But the Baroness Amelia?” asked Consuela, ashamed 
of having so long neglected to inquire for her old friend. 

A cloud lowered on the baron’s brow, and his ruddy hue, ' 
chilled by the cold, became so livid that Consuelo was ter- 
rified. But he replied with a sort of forced tranquillity. 
My daughter is in Saxony with one of her relations ; she 
will be sorry at not having seen you.” 

^^And the other members of your family, my lord,” 
resumed Consuelo ; can you inform me ” 

Yes, you shall know every thing,” replied the baron ; 
^‘eat, signora, you will require it.” 

I cannot eat if you do not relieve my disquietude. In 
the name of heaven, sir, is there any one dead?” 

No person is dead,” replied the baron, in a tone as 
melancholy as if he were announcing the extinction of his 
whole race ; and he began to carve the meats with the 
same slow and solemn precision that he Avas in the habit of 
observing at Riesenburg. Consuelo had not the courage 
to question him further. The supper appeared to her 
dreadfully tedious. Porpora, who was less anxious than 
hungry, endeavored to converse with his host. The latter 
attempted, on his side, to reply politely, and even to put 
some questions to the maestro respecting his affairs and 
projects ; but this mental effort was evidently beyond his 
strength. He never replied coherently, or else he repeated 
his questions, though he had just received a reply. He 
carved huge portions of the meat, and filled his plate and 
glass most copiously ; but it was merely the effect of 
habit ; he neither ate nor drank, and letting liis fork fall, 
he fixed his eyes on the table, and gave way to the deepest 
dejection. Consuelo looked steadily at him, and saw 
plainly that he was not intoxicated. She asked herself if 
this sudden sinking of the system was the result of misfor- 
tune, of disease, or of old age. At last, after torturing 
them in this .manner, for two hours, the repast being 
ended, the baron signed to bis domestics to retire, and 
after a long search pulled an open letter out of his pocket, 
and presented it to Consuelo. It was from the canoness, 
and was as follows ; 


CONSUBLO. 


m 

are lost, my dearest brother^there Is ho hope! 
Dr. Supperville has at last arrived here from Bareith, and 
after putting us oft* for some days he informed me that it 
would be necessary to arrange the affairs of the family, 
since in eight days perhaps Albert would be no more. 
Christian, to whom I dare not make this disclosure, still 
entertains some hope ; but he is dreadfully downcast, and 
I do not know whether my nephew’s loss be the only 
stroke which threatens me. Frederick, we are lost! Shall 
we ever survive such misfortunes? I cannot tell — the will 
of God be done! That is all I can utter; but I do not 
think I shall have force to bear up against this heavy trial. 
Come to us, my brother, and endeavor to sustain our cour- 
age, if you have sufficient strength remaining after your 
own heavy misfortune — that crowning blow to the misery 
of a family which may well be called accursed! What 
crimes have we committed to deserve such inflictions? 
May our Heavenly Parent enable me to regard his dealings 
toward us with humble faith and submission! and yet at 
times I feel as if this were more than I could accomplish. 

Come to us, dear brother ; we wait anxiously for you, 
and we require your counsel and assistance. Nevertheless 
do not quit Prague before the 11th. I have a singular 
commission to give you. I am mad I think to lend 
myself to it ; but I am completely bewildered, and can 
only conform blindly to Albert’s will. On the 11th, 
then, at seven o’clock in the evening, be on the bridge of 
Prague at the foot of the statue. The first carriage that 
passes you will stop ; the first person you see in it you will 
conduct to your house ; and if she can leave for Riesen- 
burg that very evening, Albert will perhaps be saved. At 
least, he says it will give him a hold on eternal life. What 
he means by that I do not know ; however the revelations 
he has made during the past week, of events the most un- 
foreseen by us, have been realized in so extraordinary a 
manner that it is no longer permitted me to doubt. He 
has the gift of prophecy and the perception of hidden 
things. He called me to his bedside this evening, and in 
that faint and inaudible voice, which is all that is novv 
left him, and which must be guessed rather than heard, 
told me to transmit to you the words which I have now 
faithfully reported. At seven o’clock then, on the 11th, 
be at the foot of the statue, and whoever may be the 
occupant of the carriage, bring her hither with all speed.” 


tJOKSUBLO. 


Coiisuelo had hardly finished this letter ere she grew ilS 
pale as the baron, rose suddenly, then fell back in her 
seat, where she remained motionless, with rigid arms and 
clenched teeth. But immediately rallying, she rose a 
second time and said to the baron, who had relapsed into 
his stupor : 

‘'Well then, sir, is the carriage ready? If so, I am 
ready also, and we can set out instantly.” 

The baron rose mechanically and left the room. Every 
thing had been prepared beforehand. Carriage and 
horses were already in the court-yard ; but, like an autom- 
aton moved by springs, without Consuelo the baron 
would have thought no more of their departure. 

Hardly had he left the saloon, when Porpora seized the 
letter, and hastily glanced over its contents. He too turned 
pale in his turn, could not utter a word, and paced up and 
down before the stove greatly agitated. The maestro justly 
reproached himself for what had happened. He had not 
foreseen it, it is true, but he now thought that he ought 
to have foreseen it; and seized with terror and remorse, 
and bewildered moreover, at the invalid^s strange predic- 
tion respecting Consuelo, he almost believed himself a prey 
to some horrible dream. 

Nevertheless, as he was both calculating and tenacious of 
purpose to the highest degree, he reflected on the possible 
consequences of Consuelo’s sudden resolution. He moved 
nervously through the room, struck his forehead, stamped, 
made various other manifestations of uneasiness, and at 
last arming himself with courage, and braving the explo- 
sion which he feared, he said to Consuelo, shaking her as 
he spoke to rouse her from her reverie: 

“ You wish to go with the baron, then? I consent ; but 
at the same time I shall follow you. You wish to see Al- 
bert, and perhaps deal a death-blow to his enfeebled con- 
stitution, but as we cannot now turn back, let us set out at 
once. We have still two days at our disposal. True, we 
were to spend them at Dresden, but we shall not now pause 
there. If we are not in Prussia by the 18th, we fail in our 
engagement. The theater opens on the 25th, and if you 
are not ready to appear I shall be subject to a heavy fine. 
I have not half the sum at my disposal, and in Prussia he 
who does not pay goes to prison. Once there you are for- 
gotten; it may be for ten or perhaps twenty years, and you 


CONSUELO. 


777 


niay die of hunger or old age, whichever you prefer. This 
is the fate which awaits me if you forget to leave Rieseii- 
burg on the 14th by daybreak.^^ 

‘‘ Do not be uneasy, my dear master,” replied Consuelo 
firmly, I have already thought of all that. Do not make 
me suffer at Riesenburg — that is all I ask of you. IVe 
shall set out on the 14th by daybreak.” 

You must swear it.” 

I swear it,” she replied, with a gesture of impatience. 

When your life and liberty are at stake, no oath, I should 
think, is needed from me.” 

At this moment the baron returned, followed by a faith- 
ful and intelligent servant, who, wrapping Consuelo up in 
a fur pelisse as he would have done an infant, bore her off 
to the carriage. They were soon at Berauin, and arrived 
at Pilsen by daybreak. 


CHAPTER CV. 

Much time was lost in the journey from Pilsen to Tauss 
(though they proceeded as quickly as possible) from the exe- 
crable r©ads,the unfrequented and almost impassable forests, 
and the various dangers to which they were subjected in tra- 
versing them. At last, after having proceeded at the rate of 
about a league an hour they arrived at the Castle of the Giants 
about midnight. Consuelo had never experienced a more 
dreary or fatiguing journey. The Baron Rudolstadt seemed 
in a measure paralyzed from the effect of age and gout. But 
one short year before he had been robust asa giant,but his 
iron frame was not actuated by a resolute and determined will. 
He had never yielded obedience but to his instincts, and 
when the first stroke of misfortune assailed him, his feeble 
frame sunk beneath the blow. The pity which Consuelo 
felt for him only added to her uneasiness. ^‘Is it thus,” 
thought she, that I shall find the rest of the family at 
Riesenburg?” 

The bridge was lowered, the gates opened wide, and serv- 
ants stood waiting their arrival with lighted torches in the 
court-yard. None of the three travelers thought of making 
a remark on this strange scene, and no one seemed able to 
question the domestics, Porpora, seeing that the baron 


778 


C0N8UEL0. 


could hardly walk, took his arm and assisted him along, 
while Oonsuelo darted to the entrance and flew up the 
steps. 

She met the canoness in the doorway, who, without los- 
ing time in salutation, seized her by the arm, saying: 

Follow me; we have not a moment to lose. Albert 
begins to grow impatient. He has counted the hours and 
minutes till your arrival, and announced your approach a 
moment before we heard the sound of your carriage wheels. 
He had no doubt in his mind of your coming; but, he said, 
if any accident should happen to detain you, it would be 
too late. Come, signora, and in the name of heaven do 
not oppose any of his wishes; promise all he asks ; pretend 
to love him; and if it must be, practice a friendly deceit! 
Alfred’s hours are numbered; his life draws to a close. En- 
deavor to soothe his sufferings; it is all that we ask of you.” 

Thus saying, Wenceslawa led Oonsuelo in the direction 
of the great saloon. 

He is up, then — he is not conflned to his chamber?” 
exclaimed Oonsuelo, hastily. 

He no longer rises, for he never retires to bed,” replied 
the canoness. For thirty days he has sat in his arm- 
chair in the saloon, and will not be removed elsewhere. 
The doctor says he must not be opposed on this point, and 
that he would die if he were moved. Take courage, sig- 
nora; you are about to behold a terrible spectacle!” 

The canoness opened the door of the saloon, and added: 

^^Fly to him; you need not fear to surprise him, for he 
expects you, and has seen you coming hours ago.” 

Oonsuelo darted toward her betrothed, who, as the canon- 
ess had said, was seated in a large arm-chair beside the fire- 
place. It was no longer a man, it was a specter which she 
beheld. His face, still beautiful, notwithstanding the rav- 
ages of disease, was as a face of marble. There was no smile 
on his lips — no ray of joy in his eyes. The doctor, who held 
his arm and felt his pulse, let it fall gently, and looked at 
the canoness, as much as to say — ‘^It is too late.” Oon- 
suelo knelt before him ; he looked flxedly at her, but said 
nothing. At last he signed with his Anger to the canon- 
ess, who had to interpret all his wishes. She took his arms, 
which he was no longer able to raise, and placed them on 
Oonsnelo’s sholders. Then she made the young girl lay 
her head on Albert’s bosom, and as the voice of the dying 


C0N8UEL0, 


m 


man was gone, he was merely able to whisper in her ear— 
“I am happy. He remained in this position for about 
two minutes, the head of his beloved resting on his 
bosom, and his lips pressed to her raven hair. Then he 
looked at his aunt, and by some hardly perceptible move- 
ment he made her understand that his father and his aunt 
were both to kiss his betrothed. 

From my very heart !” exclaimed the canoness, em- 
bracing Consuelo with deep emotion. Then she raised her 
to conduct her to Count Christian, whom Consuelo had not 
hitherto perceived. 

Seated in a second arm-chair, placed opposite his son’s 
at the other side of the fireplace, the old count seemed 
almost as much weakened and reduced. He was still able 
to rise, however, and take a few steps through the saloon ; 
but he was obliged to be carried every evening to his bed, 
which had been placed in an adjoining room. At that mo- 
ment he held his brother’s hand in one of his, and Porpora’s 
in the other. He left them to embrace Consuelo fervently 
several times. The almoner of the chateau came also in 
his turn to salute her, in order to gratify Albert. He also 
seemed like a spectre, notwithstanding his embonpoint 
which had only increased ; but his paleness was frightful. 
The habits of an indolent and effeminate life had so ener- 
vated him that he could not endure the sorrow of others. 
The canoness alone retained energy for all. A bright red 
spot shone on each cheek, and her eyes burned with a fe- 
verish brightness. Albert alone appeared calm. His 
brow was calm as a sleeping infant’s, and his physical pros- 
tration did not seem to have affected his mental powers. 
He was grave, and not, like his father and uncle, de- 
jected. 

In the midst of those different victims to disease or sor- 
row, the physician’s calm and healthful countenance offered 
a striking contrast to all that surrounded him. Supper- 
ville was a Frenchman who had formerly been attached to 
the household of Frederick when the latter was only crown 
prince. Early aware of the despotic fault-finding turn 
which lurked in the prince, he fixed himself at Bareith, 
in the service of Sophia Wilhelmina, sister of the King of 
Prussia'f At once jealous and ambitious, Supperville was 
the very model of a courtier. An indifferent physician, 
in spite of the local reputation he enjoyed, he was a com* 


780 


CONSUELO. 


plete man of the world, a keen observer, and tolerably 
conversant with the moral springs of disease. He bad 
urged the canoness to satisfy all the desires of her nephew, 
and bad hoped something from the return of her for 
whom Albert was dying. But however he might reckon 
his pulse and examine his countenance after Consuelo’s 
arrival, he did not the less continue to reiterate that the 
time was past, and he determined to take his departure, in 
order not to witness scenes of despair which it was no 
longer in his power to avert. 

He resolved, however, wliether in conformity with some 
interested scheme, or merely to gratify his natural taste for 
intrigue, to make himself busy in family affairs; and see- 
ing that no person in this bewildered family thought of 
turning the passing moments to account, he led Consuelo 
into the embrasure of a window, and addressed her as fol- 
lows : 

‘^Mademoiselle, a doctor is in some sort a confessor, and 
I therefore soon became aware of the secret passion which 
hurries this young man to the grave. As a medical man, 
accustomed habitually to investigate the laws of the physi- 
cal world which do not readily vary, I must say that I do 
not believe in the strange visions and ecstatic revelations of 
the young count. As regards yourself, it is easy to ascribe 
them to secret communication with you, relative to your 
journey to Prague, and your subsequent arrival here.'’’ 

And as Consuelo made a sign in the negative, he con- 
tinued : 

do not question you, mademoiselle, and my conjec- 
tures need not offend you. Rather confide in me, and look 
upon me as entirely devoted to your interests.” 

do not understand you, sir,” replied Consuelo, with 
a candor which was far from convincing the court doctor. 

“ Perhaps you will understand presently, mademoiselle,” 
he cooly rejoined. The young count’s relations have 
vehemently opposed the marriage up to this day. But 
now their opposition is at an end. Albert is about to die, 
and as he wishes to leave you his fortune, they cannot ob- 
ject to a religious ceremony that will secure it to you for 
ever.” 

Alas ! what matters Albert’s fortune to me,’4said the 
l)ereaved Consuelo ; what has that to do with his pres- 
ent situation ? It was not business that brings me here, 


CONSUELO. 781 

dr ; I came to endeavor to save him. Is there no hope 
then 

^‘None! This disease, entirely proceeding from the 
mind, is among those which baffles all our skill. It is not 
a month since the young count, after an absence of fifteen 
days, the cause of which no one could explain, returned to 
his home attacked by a disease at once sudden and incur- 
able. All the functions of life were as if suspended. For 
thirty days he has swallowed no sort of food ; and it is a 
rare exception, only witnessed in the case of the insane, to 
see life supported by a few drops of liquid daily and a few 
minutes’ sleep each night. His vital powers, as you per- 
ceive, are now quite exhausted, and in a couple of days at 
the farthest he will have ceased to suffer. Arm yourself 
with courage, then ; do not lose your presence of mind. I 
am here to aid you, and you have only to act boldly.” 

Consuelo was still gazing at the doctor with astonish- 
ment, when the canoness, on a sign from the patient, 
interrupted their colloquy by summoning him to Albert’s 
side. 

On his approach, Albert whispered in his ear for a 
longer period than his feebleness would have seemed to 
permit. Supperville turned red and pale alternately. 
The canoness looked at them anxiously, burning to know 
what wish Albert expressed. 

Doctor,” said Albert, heard all you said just now 
to that young lady.” 

The doctor, who had spoken in a low whisper and at 
the farthest extremity of the saloon, became exceedingly 
confused at this remark, and his convictions respecting 
the impossibility of any superhuman faculty were so 
shaken that he stared wildly at Albert, unable to utter a 
word. 

Doctor,” continued the dying man, "^you do not 
understand that heavenly creature’s soul, and you only 
interfere with my design by alarming her delicacy. She 
shares none of your ideas respecting money. She never 
coveted my fortune or my title. She never loved me, and 
it is to her pity alone you must appeal. Speak to her 
heart. I am nearer my end than you suppose; lose no 
time. I cannot expire happy if I do not carry with me 
into the night of my repose the title of her husband. 

But what do you mean by these last words,” said 


coNsmio. 


m 

Supperville, who at that moment was solely busied in 
analyzing the mental disease of his patient. 

You could not understand them/^ replied Albert, 
with an effort, '^but she will understand them. You have 
only to repeat them faithfully to her.” 

Count,” said Supperville, raising his voice a little, 

I find I cannot succeed in interpreting your ideas 
clearly; you have just spoken with more force and distinct- 
ness than you have done for the last eight days, and I can- 
not but draw a favorable augury from it. Speak to 
mademoiselle yourself; a word from you will convince her 
more than all I could say. There she is; let her take my 
place and listen to you.” 

Supperville in fact found himself completely at fault in 
an affair which he thought he had understood perfectly; 
and thinking he had said enough to Oonsuelo to insure 
her gratitude in the event of her realizing the fortune, he 
retired, after Albert had further said to him: 

Remember what you promised. The time has arrived, 
speak to my relatives. Let them consent, and delay not. 
The hour is at hand.” 

Albert was so exhausted by the effort he had just made, 
that he leaned his forehead on Consuelo’s breast when she 
approached him, and remained for some moments in this 
position, as if at the point of death. His white lips turned 
livid, and Porpora, terrified, feared that he had uttered 
his last sigh. During this time Supperville had collected 
Count Christian, the baron, the canoness, and chaplain, 
round the fire-place, and addressed them earnestly. The 
chaplain was the only person who ventured" on an 
objection, which although apparently faint was in reality 
as powerful as the old priest could urge. 

If your excellencies demand it,” said he, I shall 
lend my sacred functions to the celebration of this 
marriage. But Count Albert, not being at present in a 
state of grace, must first through confession and extreme 
unction make his peace with the church.” 

'^Extreme unction!” said the canoness, with a stified 
groan. Gracious God! is it come to that?” 

It is even so,” replied Supperville, who as a man of 
the world and a disciple of the Voltaire school of 
philosophy, detested both the chaplain and his objections; 
‘*yes, it is even so, and without remedy; if his reverence 


GONSVELO. 


m 

the chaplain insists on this point, and is bent on torment- 
ing Count Albert by the dreary apparatus of death.” 

‘^And do you think,” said Count Christian, divided 
between his sense of devotion and his paternal tenderness, 
that a gayer ceremony, and one more congenial with his 
wishes might prolong his days?” 

can answer positively for nothing,” replied Snpper- 
ville, but I venture to anticipate much good from it. 

Your excellency consented to this marriage formerly ” 

‘‘1 always consented to it. I never opposed it,” said the 
count, designedly raising his voice; ^‘it was master 
Porpora who wrote to say that he would never consent, 
and that she likewise had renounced all idea of it. Alas!” 
he added, lowering his voice, it was the death-blow to 
my poor child.” 

You hear what my father says,” murmured Albert in 
Consuelo^’s ear, ‘^but do not grieve for it. I believed you 
had abandoned me, and I gave myself up to despair; but 
during the last eight days I have regained my reason, 
which they call my madness. I have read hearts as othei-s 
open books — I have read, with one glance, the past, the 
present, and the future. I learned, in short, that you 
were faithful, Consuelo; that you had endeavored to love 
me; and that you had, indeed, for a time succeeded. But 
they deceived us both; forgive your master, as I forgive 
him !” 

Consuelo looked at Porpora, who could not indeed 
catch Alberts words, but who on hearing those of Count 
Christian was much agitated, and walked up and down 
before the fire with hurried strides. She looked at him 
with an air of solemn reproach; and the maestro under- 
stood her so well that he struck his forehead violently with 
his clenched hand. Albert signed to Consuelo to bring 
the maestro close to his couch, and to assist him to hold 
out his hand. Porpora pressed the cold fingers to his lips, 
and burst into tears. His conscience reproached him with 
homicide; but his sincere and heartfelt repentance palli- 
ated in some measure his fatal error. 

Albert made a sign that he wislied to listen what reply 
his relations made to the doctor, and he heard it, though 
they spoke so low that Porpora and Consuelo who were 
kneeling by his side could not distinguish a word. 

The chaplain withstood, as well as he could. Supper- 


^84 


CONSUELO, 


ville^s bitter irony, while the canoness sought by a mixture 
of superstition and tolerance, of Christian charity and 
maternal tenderness, to conciliate what was irreconcilable 
to the Catholic faith. The question was merely one of 
form — that is to say, whether the chaplain would consider 
it right to administer the marriage sacrament to a heretic, 
unless indeed the latter would conform to the Catholic 
faith immediately afterward. Supperville indeed did not 
hesitate to say that Count Albert had promised to profess 
and believe anything after the ceremony was over; but the 
chaplain was not to be duped. At last. Count Christian, 
calling to his aid that quiet firmness and plain good sense 
with which, although after much weakness and hesitation, 
he had always put an end to domestic differences, spoke as 
follows: 

Keverend sir,” said he to the chaplain, there is no 
ecclesiastical law which expressly forbids the marriage of a 
Catholic to a schismatic. The church tolerates these alli- 
ances. Consider Consuelo then as orthodox, my son as 
heretic, and marry them at once. Confession and be- 
trothal, as you are aware, are but matters of precept, and 
in certain cases may be dispensed with. Some favorable 
change may result from this marriage, and when Albert is 
cured it will then be time to speak of his conversion.” 

The chaplain had never opposed the wishes of Count 
Christian, who was in his eyes a superior arbiter in cases 
of conscience even to the pope himself. There only now 
remained to convince Consuelo. This Albert alone thought 
of, and drawing her toward him, he succeeded in clasping 
the neck of his beloved with his emaciated and shadowy 
arms. 

Consuelo,” said he, “I read at this hour in your soul 
that you would give your life to restore mine. That is no 
longer possible; but you can restore me forever by a simple 
act of your will. I leave you for a time, but I shall soon 
return to earth under some new form. I shall return un- 
happy and wretched if you now abandon me. You know 
that the crimes of Ziska still remain unexpiated, and you 
alone, my sister Wando, can purify me in the new phase 
of my existence. We are brethren ; to become lovers, 
death must cast his gloomy shadow between us. But we 
must, by a solemn engagement, become man and wife, 
that in my new birth I may regain my calmness and 


CONSUELO. 


785 


strength, and become, like other men, freed from the 
dreary memories of the past. Only consent to this en- 
gagement; it will not bind you in this life, which I am 
about to quit, but it will unite us in eternity. It will be 
a pledge whereby we can recognize each other, should 
death affect the clearness of our recollections. Consent] 
it is but a ceremony of the church which 1 accept, since it 
is the only one which in the estimation of men can sanction 
our mutual relation. This I must carry with me to the 
tomb. A marriage without the assent of my family would 
be incomplete in my eyes. Ours shall be indissoluble in 
our hearts, as it is sacred in intention. Consent T' 

I consent, exclaimed Consuelo, pressing her lips to 
the pale cold forehead of her betrothed. 

These words were heard by all. 

Welir^ said Supperville, ‘Met us hasten,” and he urged 
the chaplain vigorously, who summoned the domestics and 
gave them instructions to have every thing prepared for 
the ceremony. Count Christian, a little revived, sat close 
beside his son and Consuelo. The good canoness thanked 
the latter warmly for her condescension, and was so much 
affected as even to kneel before her and kiss her hands. 
Baron Frederick wept in silence, without appearing to 
know what was going on. In the twinkling of an eye an 
altar was erected in the great saloon. The domestics were 
dismissed; they thought it was only the last rights of the 
church which were about to be administered, and that the 
patient required silence and fresh air. Porpora and Sup- 
perville served as witnesses. Albert found strength suf- 
ficient to pronounce a decisive yes and the other forms 
which the ceremony required, in a clear and sonorous 
voice, and the family from this conceived a lively hope of 
his recovery. Hardly had the chaplain recited the closing 
prayer over the newly-married couple, ere Albert arose, 
threw himself into his father’s arms, and embraced him, 
as well as his aunt, his uncle, and Porpora, earnestly and 
rapidly; then seating himself in his arm-chair, he pressed 
Consuelo to his heart and exclaimed: 

I am saved!” 

“It is the final effort, the last convulsion of nature,” 
said Supperville, who had several times examined the 
features, and felt the pulse of the patient, while the mar- 
riage ceremony was proceeding, 


786 


COmUELO, 


111 fact, Albertis arms loosed their hold, fell forward, 
and rested on his knees. His aged and faithful dog, 
Oynabre, who had not left his feet during the whole period 
of his illness, raised his head and uttered thrice a dismal 
howl. Albertis gaze was riveted on Consuelo; his lips re- 
mained apart as if about to address her ; a faint glow ani- 
mated his cheek; and then gradually that peculiar and in- 
describable shade which is the forerunner of death crept 
from his forehead down to his lips, and by degrees over- 
shadowed his whole face as with a snowy veil. The silence 
of terror which brooded over the breathless and attentive 
group of spectators was interrupted by the doctor, who, in 
solemn accents, pronounced the irrevocable decree: ‘‘It is 
the hand of Death!” 


CHAPTER CVI. 

Count Christian fell back senseless in his chair. The 
canoness, sobbing convulsively, flung herself on AlberPs 
remains, as if she hoped by her caresses to rouse him to life 
again, while Baron Frederick uttered some unmeaning 
words with a sort of idiotic calm. Supperville approached 
Consuelo, whose utter immobility terrified him more than 
the agitation of the others. 

“Do not trouble yourself about me, sir,” she said, 
“ nor you either, my friend,” added she, addressing Por- 
pora, who hastened to add his condolence, “but remove 
his unhappy relatives and endeavor to sustain and comfort 
them; as for me, I shall remain here. The dead need 
nothing but respect and prayers.” 

The count and the baron suffered themselves to be led 
away without resistence; as for the canoness, she was car- 
ried, cold and apparently lifeless, to her apartment, where 
Supperville followed to lend assistance. Porpora, no 
longer knowing where he was or what he did, rushed out 
and wandered through the gardens like an insane person. 
He felt as if suffocated. His habitual insensibility was 
more apparent than real. Scenes of grief and terror had 
excited his impressionable imagination, and he hastened 
onward by the light of the moon, pursued by gloomy 


COJNSUELO. 


787 

voices which chanted a frightful Dies ifce incessantly in 
his ears. 

Cousuelo remained alone with Albert; for hardly had 
the chaplain begun to recite the prayers for the dead, than 
he fainted away and was borne off in his turn. The poor 
man had insisted on sitting up along with the canoness 
during the whole of Albertis illness, and was utterly ex- 
hausted. The Countess of Rudolstadt, kneeling by the 
side of her husband and holding his cold hands in hers, 
her head pressed against his which beat no longer, fell into 
deep abstraction. What Consuelo experienced at this 
moment \yas not exactly pain; at least it was not that bitter 
regret which accompanies the loss of beings necessary to 
our daily happiness. Her regard for Albert was not of 
this intimate character, and his death left no apparent void 
in her existence. The despair of losing those whom we 
love, not infrequently resolves itself into selfishness, and 
abhorrence of the new duties imposed upon us. One part 
of this grief is legitimate and proper; the other is not so, 
and should be combated, though it is just as natural. 
Nothing of all this mingled with the solemn and tender 
melancholy of Consuelo. Albert’s nature was foreign to 
her own in every respect, except in one — the admiration, 
respect, and sympathy with which he had inspired her. 
She had chalked out a plan of life without him, and had 
even renounced the idea of an affection which, until two 
days before, she had thought extinct. What now remained 
to her was the desire and duty of proving faithful to a 
sacre/d pledge. Albert had been already dead as regarded 
her; he was now nothing more, and was perhaps even less 
so in some respects; for Consuelo, long exalted by inter- 
course with this lofty soul, had come in her dreamy reverie 
to adopt in a measure some of his poetical convictions. 
The belief in the transmission of souls had received a 
strong foundation in her instinctive repugnance toward 
the idea of eternal punishment after death, and in her 
Christian faith in the immortality of the soul. Albert, 
alive, but prejudiced against her by appearances, seemed 
as if wrapped in a veil, transported into another existence 
incomplete in comparison with that which he had proposed 
to devote to pure and lofty affection and unshaken con- 
fidence. But Albert, restored to this faith in her and to 
his enthusiastic affection, and yielding up his last breath 


788 


CONSUELO. 


on her bosom — had he then ceased to exist as regarded 
her? Did he not live in all the plenitude of a cloudless 
existence in passing under the triumphal arch of a glorious 
death, which conducted him either to a temporary repose, 
or to immediate consciousness in a purer and more heavenly 
state of being? To die struggling with one's own weak- 
ness, and to awake endowed with strength; to die forgiv- 
ing the wicked, and to awake under the influence and 
protection of the upright; to die in sincere repentance, 
and to awake absolved and purified by the innate influence 
of virtue — are not these heavenly rewards? Consuelo, 
already initiated by Albert into doctrines which had their 
origin among the Hussites of Old Bohemia, as well as 
among the mysterious sects of preceding ages, who had 
humbly endeavored to interpret the words of Christ — Con- 
suelo, I repeat, convinced, more from her gentle and affec- 
tionate nature than by the force of reasoning, that the 
soul of her husband was not suddenly removed from her 
forever and carried into regions inaccessible to human sym- 
pathies, mingled with this belief some of the superstitious 
ideas of her childhood. She had believed in spirits as the 
common people believe in them, and had more tlian once 
dreamed that she saw her mother approach to protect and 
shield her from danger. It was a sort of belief in the 
eternal communion of the souls of the living and the dead 
— a simple and childlike faith, which has ever existed to 
protest as it were against that creed which would forever 
separate the spirits of the departed from this lower world, 
arid assign them a perfectly different and far distant sphere 
of action. 

Consuelo, still kneeling by Albert's remains, could not 
bring herself to believe that he was dead, and could not 
comprehend the dread nature either of the word or of the 
reality. It did not seem possible that life could pass away 
so soon, and that the functions of heart and brain had 
ceased forever. “No," thought she, “ the Divine spark 
still lingers, and hesitates to return to the hand who gave it, 
and who is about to resume his gift in order to send it 
forth under a renewed form into some loftier sphere. 
There is still, perhaps, a mysterious life existing in the 
yet warm bosom; and besides, wherever the soul of Albert 
is, it sees, understands, knows all that has taken place 
here, It seeks perhaps some aliment in my love — m im- 


CONSUELO. 


pnlsive poWef to aid it in some new and heavenly career/^ 
And, tilled with these vague thoughts, she continued to 
love Albert, to open her soul to him, to express her 
devotion to him, to repeat her oath of fidelity — in 
short, in feeling and idea, to treat him, not as a departed 
spirit for whom one weeps without hope, but as a sleeping 
friend whose awakening smiles we joyfully await. 

When Porpora had become more composed, he thought 
with terror of the situation in which he had left his pupil, 
and hastened to rejoin her. He was surprised to find her 
as calm as if she had watched by the bedside of a sleeping 
friend. He would have spoken to her and urged her to 
take some repose: 

‘‘ Do not utter unmeaning words,” said she, in presence 
of this sleeping angel. Do you retire to rest, my dear 
master; I shall remain here.” 

Would you then kill'yourself ?” said Porpora, in despair. 

^‘No, my friend, I shall live,” replied Consuelo ; "‘I 
shall fulfill all my duties toward Mm and toward you, but 
not for one instant shall I leave his side this night.” 

When morning came, all was still. An overpowering 
drowsiness had deadened all sense of suffering. The phy- 
sician, exhausted by fatigue, had retired to rest. Porpora 
slumbered in his chair, his head supported on Count Chris- 
tianas bed. Consuelo alone felt no desire to abandon her 
post. The count was unable to leave his bed, but Baron 
Frederick, his sister, and the chaplain, proceeded almost 
mechanically to offer up their prayers before the altar; 
after which they began to speak of the interment. The 
canoness, regaining strength when necessity required her 
services, summoned her women and old Hans to aid her in 
the necessary duties. Porpora and the doctor then in- 
sisted on Consuelo taking some repose, and she yielded to 
their entreaties, after first paying a visit to Count Chris- 
tian, who apparently did not see her. It was hard to say 
whether he waked or slept, for his eyes were open, his 
respiration calm, and his face without expression. 

When Consuelo awoke, after a few hours^ repose, she re- 
turned to the saloon, but was struck with dismay to find it 
empty. Albert had been laid upon a bier and carried to 
the chapel. His arm-chair was empty, and in the same 
position where Consuelo had formerly seen it. It was all 
that remained to remind her of him, in this place where 


m 


GONSUELO, 


every hope and aspiration of the family had been Centered 
for so many bitter days. Even his dog had vanished. 
The summer sun lighted up the somber wainscoting of the 
apartment, while the merry call of the blackbirds sounded 
from the garden with insolent gayety. Consuelo passed on 
to the adjoining apartment, the door of which was half 
open. Count Christian, who still kept his couch, lay ap- 
parently insensible to the loss he had just sustained, and 
his sister watched over him with the same vigilant atten- 
tion that she had formerly shown to Albert. The baron 
gazed at the burning logs with a stupefied air ; but the 
silent tears which trickled down his aged cheeks showed 
that bitter memory was still busy with his heart. 

Consuelo approached the canoness to kiss her hand, but 
the old lady drew it back from her with evident marks of 
aversion. Poor Wenceslawa only beheld in her the de- 
stroyer of her nephew. At first she had held the marriage 
in detestation, and had opposed it with all her might; but 
when she had seen that time and absence alike failed to 
induce Albert to renounce his engagement, and that his 
reason, life, and health, depended on it, she had come to 
desire it as much as she had before hated and repelled it. 
Porpora’s refusal, the exclusive passion for the theater 
which he ascribed to Consuelo, and in short all the officious 
and fatal falsehoods which he had despatched in succession 
to Count Christian, without ever adverting to the letters 
which Consuelo had written, but which he had suppressed 
— had oceasioned the old man infinite suffering, and 
aroused in the canoness^ breast the bitterest indignation. 
She felt nothing but hate and contempt for Consuelo. She 
could pardon her, she said, for having perverted Albert’s 
reason through this fatal attachment, but she could not 
forgive her for having so basely betrayed him. Every look 
of the poor aunt, who knew not that the real enemy of 
Albert’s peace was Porpora, seemed to say ^‘you have de- 
stroyed our child; you could not restore him again; and 
now the disgrace of your alliance is all that remains to us.” 

This silent declaration of war hastened Consuelo’s re- 
solve to comfort, so far as might be, the canoness for this 
last misfortune. May I request,” said she, that your 
ladyship will favor me with a private interview? I must 
leave this to-morrow ere daybreak; but before setting out 
I would fain make known my respectful intentions.” 


C0N8UEL0, 


791 


Your intentions! Oh, I can easily guess theni,^^ re- 
plied the canoness, bitterly. ^^Do not be uneasy, made- 
moiselle, all shall be as.it ought to be, and the rights 
which the law yields you shall be strictly respected. 

I perceive you do not comprehend me, madam,” re- 
plied Consuelo; I therefore long ” 

“Well! since I must drain the bitter cup to the dregs,” 
said the canoness, rising, “let it be now, while I have still 
courage to endure it. Follow me, signora. My eldest 
brother appears to slumber, and Supperville, who has con- 
sented to remain another day, will take my place for half 
an hour.” 

She rang, and desired the dpctor to be sent for, then 
turning to the baron: 

“ Brother,” said she, “ your cares are useless, since Chris- 
tian is still unconscious of his misfortune. He may never 
be otherwise — happily for him, but most unhappily for 
us I Perhaps insensibility is but the forerunner of death. 
I have now only you in the world, my brother ; take care 
of your health, which this dreary inaction has only too 
much affected already. You were always accustomed to 
air and exercise. Go out, take your gun, the huntsman 
will follow with the dogs. Do, I entreat you, for my sake ; 
it is the doctor’s orders, as well as your sister’s prayer. Do 
not refuse me ; it is the greatest consolation you can 
bestow on my unhappy old age.” 

The baron hesitated, but at last yielded the point. The 
servants led him out, and he followed them like a child. 
The doctor examined Count Christian, who still seemed 
hardly conscious, though he answered any questions which 
were put to him with gentle indifference, and appeared to 
recognize those around him. “ After all,” said Supper- 
ville, “ he is not so ill ; and if he pass a good night, it 
may turn out nothing after all.” 

Wenceslawa, a little consoled, left her brother in the 
doctor’s care, and conducted Consuelo to a large apart- 
ment, richly decorated in an antique fashion, where she 
had never been before. It contained a large state-bed, the 
curtains of which had not been stirred for more than 
twenty years. It was that in which Wanda Prachalitz, 
the mother of Count Albert, had breathed her last sigh, 
for this had been her apartment. “ It was here,” said the 
canoness with a solemn air, after having closed the door. 


792 


G0N8UEL0. 


“ that we found Albert; it is now two-and-thirty days 
since, after an absence of thirteen. From that day to this 
be never entered it again ; nor did be once quit the arm- 
chair where yesterday be expired. 

The dry, cold manner with which the canoness uttered 
this funereal announcement struck a dagger to Consuelo’s 
heart. She then took from her girdle her inseparable 
bunch of keys, walked towai’d a large cabinet of sculptured 
oak, and opened both its doors. Consuelo saw that it con- 
tained a perfect mountain of jewels tarnished by age, of a 
strange fashion, the larger portion antique and enriched by 
diamonds and precious stones of considerable value. 

These,’’ said the canoness to her, ‘^are the family 
jewels which were the property of my sister-in-law. Count 
Christian’s wife, before her marriage ; here, in this parti- 
tion, are my grandmother’s, which my brothers and myself 
made her a present of ; and lastly, here are those which 
her husband bought for her. All these descended to her 
son Albert, and henceforth belong to you as his widow. 
Take them, and do not fear that any one here will dispute 
with you these riches, to which we attach no importance, 
and with which we have nothing more to do. The title- 
deeds of my nephew’s maternal inheritance will be placed 
in your hands within an hour. All is in order, as I told 
you ; and as to those of his paternal inheritance, you will 
not, alas! have probably long to wait for them. Such 
were Albert’s last wishes. My promise to act in con- 
formity with them had, in his eyes, all the force of a will.” 

Madam,” replied Consuelo, closing the cabinet with a 
movement of disgust, I should have torn the will had 
there been one, and I pray you now to take back your 
word. I have no more need than you for all these riches. 
It seems to me that my life would be forever stained by 
the possession of them. If Albert bequeathed them to me, 
it was doubtless with the idea that, conformably to his 
feelings and habits, I would distribute them to the poor. 
But I should be a bad dispenser of these noble charities ; I 
have neither the talents nor the knowledge necessary to 
make a useful disposition of them. It is to you, madam, 
who unite to those qualities a Christian spirit as generous 
as that of Albert, it belongs to employ this inheritance in 
works of charity. I relinquish to you my riglits (if in- 
deed I can be said to have any), of which I am ignorant 


CONSUELO. 


793 . 


and wish always to remain so. I claim from yonr good- 
ness only one favor, viz: that you will never wound my 
feelings by renewing such offers.” 

The canoness changed countenance. Forced to esteem, 
but unwilling to admire, she endeavored to persist in her 
offer. 

But what do you mean to do ?” said she, looking 
steadily at Consuelo ; ^^you have no fortune?” 

Excuse me, madam, I am rich enough. I have simple 
tastes and a love for labor.” 

Then you intend to resume — what yon call your 
labor?” 

am compelled to do so, piadam, and for reasons 
which prevent my hesitating, notwithstanding the dejection 
in which I am plunged.” 

And you do not wish to support your new rank in the 
world in any other manner?” 

•^What rank, madam?” 

^^That which befits Alberts widow.” 

•• I shall never forget, madam, that I am the widow of 
the noble Albert, and my conduct shall be worthy of the 
husband I have lost.” 

^^And yet the Countess of Rudolstadt intends onc^ 
more to appear on the stage!” 

There is no other Countess of Rudolstadt than your- 
self, madam, and there never will be another after you, 
except the Baronesss Amelia, your niece. 

Do you mean to insult me by speaking of her, sig- 
nora?” cried the canoness, who started at that name as if 
seared with a red-hot iron. 

^'Why that question, madam?” returned Consuelo, 
with an astonishment which Wenceslawa saw at once was 
not feigned. In the name of heaven, tell me why I 
have not seen the young baroness here? Oh, heavens! can 
she be dead also?” 

“ No,” said the canoness bitterly. Would to heaven 
she were! Let us not speak of her; what we have said 
has no reference to her.” 

I am nevertheless compelled, madam, to recall to your 
mind what only now strikes me. It is, that she is the only and 
legitimate heiress of the property and titles of your family. 
This must put your conscience at rest respecting the de- 
posit which Albert has confided to you, since the laws do 
not permit you to dispose of it in my favor.” 


794 


GONSUELO. 


Nothing can deprive you of a dowry and title which 
Albertis last will has placed at your disposal.” 

“ Then nothing can prevent me renouncing them, and J 
do renounce them. Albert knew well that I neither 
wished to be rich nor a countess.” 

‘^But the world does not authorize you to renounce 
them.” 

The world, madam ! Well, that is precisely what I 
wished to speak to you about. The world would not un- 
derstand the affection of Albert, nor the condescension of 
his family toward a poor girl like me. They would con- 
sider it a reproach to his memory and a stain upon your 
life. They would esteem it both ridiculous and shameful 
on my part; for, I repeat it, the world would understand 
nothing of what has here passed between us. The world, 
therefore, ought always to remain ignorant of it, madam, 
as your domestics are ignorant of it; for my master and the 
doctor, the only confidants, the only witnesses of that secret 
marriage, who are not of your own family, have not yet 
divulged it and will not divulge it. I can answer for the 
former; you can and ought to assure yourself of the discre- 
tion of the latter. Live tranquil then, madam, on this 
^oint. It will depend upon yourself alone to bury this 
secret in the tomb, and never by my act shall the Baroness 
Amelia suspect that I have the honor to be her cousin. 
Forget, therefore, the last hour of Count Albertis exist- 
ence; it is for me to remember it, to bless him and be 
silent. You have tears enough to shed without my adding 
to them the mortification you must feel in recalling my 
existence as the widow of your admirable child !” 

Consuelo! my daughter !” cried the canoness, sobbing, 
remain with us ! You have a lofty soul and a great 
heart ! Do not leave us again !” 

‘‘ That would be the dearest wish of this heart which is 
all devotion to you,” replied Consuelo, receiving her 
caresses with emotion; ^^but I could not do it without our 
secret being betrayed or guessed, which is the same thing, 
and I know that the honor of your family is dearer to you 
than life. Allow me, by tearing myself from your arms 
without delay and without hesitation, to render you the 
only service in my power.” 

The tears which the canoness shed at the termination of 
this scene, relieved her from the dreadful weight that 


^CONSUELO. 


m 


oppressed her. They were the first that she had been able 
to shed since the death of her nephew. She accepted the 
sacrifice which Consuelo made, and the confidence which 
she placed in her resolutions proved that she at last appre- 
ciated that noble character. She left it to her to commu- 
nicate them to the chaplain and to come to an understand- 
ing with Supperville and Porpora upon the necessity of for- 
ever keeping silence on the subject. 


CONCLUSION. 

CoiTSUELO, finding herself at perfect liberty, passed the 
day in wandering about the chateau, the garden, and the 
environs, in order to revisit all the places that recalled to 
her Albert’s love. She even allowed her pious fervor to 
carry her as far as the Schreckenstein, and seated herself 
upon the stone, in that rightful solitude which Albert had 
so long filled with his grief. But she soon retired, feeling 
her courage fail her, and almost imagining that she heard 
a hollow groan issuing from the bowels of the rock. She 
dared not admit even to herself that she heard it distinctly; 
Albert and Zdenko were no more, and the allusion, therK 
fore, for it was plainly such, could not prove otherwise 
than hurtful and enervating. Consuelo hurriedly left the 
spot. 

On returning to the chateau toward evening she saw the 
Baron Frederick, who had by degrees strengthened himself 
on his legs and had regained some animation in the pur- 
suit of his favorite amusement. The huntsmen who 
accompanied him started the game, and the baron, whose 
skill had not deserted him, picked up his victims with a 
deep sigh. 

He, at least, will live and be consoled,” thought the 
young widow. 

The canoness supped, or pretended to sup, in her 
brother’s chamber. The chaplain, who had been praying 
beside the dead body in the chapel, endeavored to join 
them in their evening meal. But he felt feverish and ill, 
and after the first few mouthfuls was obliged to desist. 
This provoked the doctor a good deal. He was hungry, 
and, now compelled to let his soup cool in order to conduct 
the chaplain to his chamber, he could not help exclaiming 


m 


CONSVKLO. 


— These people have no strength or courage! There are 
only two men here — the canoness and the signora 

He soon returned, resolved not to trouble himself much 
about the indisposition of the poor priest, and made a 
hearty supper, in which he was imitated by the baron. 
Porpora, deeply affected, though he did not display it, 
could not unclose his lips either to speak or to eat. Con- 
suelo’s thoughts were occupied with the last repast she had 
made at that table between Albert and Anzoleto. 

After supper she proceeded along with her master to 
make the necessary preparations for her departure. The 
horses were ordered to be in readiness at four in the morn- 
ing. Before separating for the night, she repaired to 
Count Christianas apartment. He slept tranquilly, and 
Supper ville, who wished to quit the dreary abode, asserted 
that he had no longer any remains of fever. 

Is that perfectly certain, sir ?” said Consuelo, who was 
shocked at his precipitation. 

I assure you,^* said he, ‘Mt is so. He is saved for the 
present, but I must warn you that it will not be long. At 
his time of life grief is not so deeply felt at the crisis, but 
the enemy merely gives way, to return with greater force 
iAterward. So be on the watch, for you are not surely 
serious in determining to surrender your rights.^^ 

I am perfectly serious, sir,^^ said Consuelo, ‘‘and I am 
astonished that you do not believe in so simple a matter. 

“ Permit me to doubt, madame, until the death of your 
father-in-law. Meantime, you have made a great mistake 
in not taking possession of the jewels and title-deeds. No 
matter; you have doubtless your reasons, which I do not 
seek to know; fora person so calm as you are does not act 
without motives. I have given my word of honor not to 
disclose this family secret, and I shall keep my promise till 
you release me from it. My testimony maybe of service to 
you when the proper time comes, and you may rely on my 
zeal and friendship. You will always find me at Bareith, 
if alive; and in this hope, countess, I kiss your hand.^’ 
Supperville took leave of the canoness, and having as- 
sured her of his patient’s safety, written a prescription, 
and received a large fee — small, however, he trusted, in 
comparison with that which he was to receive from Con- 
suelo — and qfiitted the castle at ten o’clock, leaving the 
latter indignant at his sordidness. 


CONSUELO. 


m 


The baron retired to rest better than he bad been the 
night before; as for the canoness, she had a bed prepared 
for herself beside Count Obristiaii’s. Oonsuelo waited till 
all was still; then when twelve oclock struck she lighted a 
lamp and repaired to the chapel. At the end of the cloister 
she found two of the servants, who at first were frightened 
at her approach, but afterward confessed why they were 
there. Their duty was to watch a part of the night beside 
the young count’s remains, but they were afraid, and pre- 
ferred watching and praying outside the door. 

‘^And why afraid?” asked Oonsuelo, mortified to find 
that so generous a master inspired only such sentiments in 
the breast of his attendants. 

What would you have, signora?’ replied one of these 
men, unaware that he was addressing Count Albert’s 
widow; ‘^our young lord had mysterious relations and 
strange acquaintances among the world of spirits. He con- 
versed with the dead, he found out hidden things, never 
went to church, ate and drank with the gypsies — in short, 
no one could say what might happen to any one who would 
pass the night in this chapel. It would be as much as our 
lives were worth. Look at Cynabre there ! They would 
not let him into the chapel, and he has lain all day lo?^ 
before the door without moving, without eating, without 
making the least noise. He knows very well that his mas- 
ter is dead, for he has never called him once, but since 
midnight has struck, see how restless he is, how he smells 
and whines, as if he was aware that his master was no 
longer alone.” 

You are weak fools!” replied the indignant Consuelo. 

If your hearts were warmer, your minds would not be so 
feeble I” and she entered the chapel, to the surprise and 
consternation of the timid domestics. 

‘‘Albert lay on a couch covered with brocade, with the 
family escutcheons embroidered at the corners. His head 
reposed on a black velvet cushion, sprinkled with silver 
tears, while a black velvet pall fell in sable folds around 
him. A triple row of waxen tapers lit up his pale face, 
which was so calm, so pure, so manly, that a spectator 
would have said that he slept peacefully. The last of the 
Kudolstadts was clothed, according to family custom, in 
the ancient costume of his fathers. The coronet of a count 
was on his head, a sword was by his side, a buckler at his 
feet, and a crucifix on his breast. With his long black hair 


GONSUELO. 


and beard, be seemed one of tlie ancient warriors whose 
effigies lay thickly scattered around. The pavement was 
strewn with flowers, and perfumes burned slowly in silver 
censers, placed at each corner of his last sad resting-place. 

During three hours Consuelo prayed for her husband and 
contemplated him in his sublime repose. Death, in spread- 
ing a graver shade over his features, had altered them so 
little, that often, in admiring his beauty, she forgot that 
he had ceased to live. She even imagined that she heard 
the sound of his respiration, and when she withdrew for an 
instant to renew the perfume of the censers and trim the 
flames of the tapers, it seemed to her that she heard slight 
rustlings and perceived almost imperceptible undulations 
in the curtains and draperies. She re-approached him im- 
mediately, but on perceiving his frozen lips and silent 
heart, she renounced her fleeting and insensate hopes. 

When three o’clock struck, Consuelo rose, and pressed 
upon the lips of her spouse her first kiss of love. 

Adieu, Albert!” said she, aloud, carried away by her re- 
ligious enthusiasm; “ you can now read without uncer- 
tainty all the emotions of my heart. There is no longer a 
cloud between us, and you know how I love you. You 
Jllnow that if I abandon your precious remains to the care of 
a family who to-morrow will return and look upon you with 
calmness, I shall not the less remember you and your un- 
faltering love forever. You know that it is not a heedless 
widow, but a faithful wife that leaves your last abode, and 
that she shall never cease to bear your memory in her 
heart. Adieu, Albert! As you have said> death severs us 
in seeming only, and we shall meet again in eternity. 
Faithful to the convictions which you have implanted in 
me, certain that you have merited God’s blessing and ap- 
proval, I weep not for you, and nothing will present you 
before my thoughts under the false and cruel image of 
death. You were right, Albert, I feel it in my heart, 
where I shall ever love you — there is no real death 

As Consuelo finished these words, the curtains behind 
the bier were perceptibly moved, and, suddenly opening, 
presented to view the pale features of Zdenko. She was 
terrified at first, accustomed as she was to look upon him 
as her mortal enemy, but there was an expression of gentle- 
ness in his eyes which reassured her, and, stretching over 
the bed of death a rough hand which she did not hesitate 
to grasp in hers, he exclaimed with a smile — Let us be 


GONSUELO, 


799 


at peace, my poor girl, here by his bed of rest. You ai’e 
the good child of God, and Albert is well pleased with 
you. Ah! he is happy now; Albert sleeps well! I have 
pjf^’doned him as you see! When I learned that he slept, I 
came; and now I shall never leave him more. To-morrow 
I shall bring him to the grotto, and there we shall still 
converse about Consuelo — Conmelo de mi alma! Rest then, 
my child; Albert is no longer alone. Zdenko is there— 
always there! He wants nothing more — his friend will pro- 
vide for him ! The misfortune is averted; evil is destroyed; 
death is overcome. The thrice glorious day has risen. 
May Tie loTiom they have ivronged salute youE^ 

Consuelo could support no longer this poor fooFs 
childish joy. She bade him a tender adieu; and when she 
opened the chapel door she allowed Cynabre to enter and 
bound forward toward his old friend, whom, with his 
unerring instinct, he had already long perceived. Poor 
Cynabre ! Come ! come ! I shall hide you under my 
master's couch," said Zdenko, caressing him as he spoke 
with as much tenderness as if he had been his own child. 

Come! my Cynabre; we are all three once more united, 
and never shall we be separated again." 

Consuelo hastened to awaken Porpora, and then enterec^ 
on tiptoe into Count Christian's apartment and glided 
between his bed and that of the canoness. 

‘^It is you, my daughter?" said the old man, without 
evincing any surprise; am happy to see you. Do not 
waken my sister, who sleeps well, thank God ! Go and do 
likewise; I feel quite easy. My son is saved, and I shall 
soon be well." 

Consuelo kissed his white hair and his wrinkled hands, 
and succeeded in stifling her tears which would perhaps 
have dissipated his illusion. She dared not disturb the 
canoness, who reposed at last after watching for thirty 
nights. God," she thought, has placed bounds to 
grief, even in its paroxysm. May the rest of these unhappy 
souls be long!" 

Half an hour afterward Consuelo, who felt her heart 
wrung with grief on leaving these noble-minded friends, 
crossed the drawbridge of the castle with Porpora, without 
once recollecting that the frowning stronghold, whose 
moats and bars enclosed such riches and such suffering, 
had become the property of tlie Countess of Rudolstadt, 
THE END, 


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HsifM and grartiM iaafesi. 


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' 


The following titJu't ore no2v ready: 

LORN A DOONE. A Romance o'’ Vlxineor. By R. I). Blackmon 


'fi 


ON THE HEIGHTS. By Bertlvold Auerbach. Translated from the German by ^ 
F. E. Buimett. -i 

UARDA. ,A Itomance ot Ancient Fjrypt, By George Albers. Translated from the # 
vjlerman by < 'lara Beil. 

HYPATIA; or, New Foes witli an Old .Face. By Charles Kingsley. 


ESSAYS. By Ralph Waldo Eraersor.. First and second series in one volume. 
ROMOLA. By George, Eliot. 





JNDINE AND OTHER TALES By I>e 1 „-i Moif.o 1- ou.iue. irom 


the German by F. E Fbuuiett 
JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Bronte (Cnrrei* Bell). 






THE MOONSTONE. By Wilkie Collins. 

THE LAST DAYS QF. POMPEII. By Sir Edward BuBver-Lyttbr . F, t. 
IVANHOE. A Romance. By Sir Walter Scot i. 

WESTVvARD HO. By Charles Kingsley. 

JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. A Novel. By AUss 
\/aN1TY fair a Novel Without a Hero. By Wm. AI. Thacti^eiay. 
CONSUELO. By George Sand. 

SHlRLEY. By Charlotte Bronte 

THE LAST OF THE BARONS. By Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Bart. 
ADAM BEDE. By- George Eliot. 

COR INN E, or Italy. By :\Iadame Be Stael. 

AND LILIES. 






4 


m 






■I 




■ A 


THE CROWN OF WILD OLIVE and SESAME 
John Rusk'D. 

MIDDLEMARCH. By George Eliot. 


by 


For Sale at, and SubscrlptioJis received, by all Poolcsellers.- 
Sent by mail, xwstpaid, on receipt of price by the Publisher. 


A. L. BURT, 66 Rcade Street, New York. 








Kntcred-ilt the Post Office at New York, N, Y., Us second-cIas.s matter. 









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